One of my new blogging gigs is for Suite, a new sort of blogging community that aims to encourage the fine art of conversation while banishing all that nasty blather from online trolls.

For Suite, I've launched a theme called "When I was a kid". The basic premise is my take, as someone who grew up in the freewheeling seventies, on today's much more complicated parenting ethos. I'm also the parent of a soon-to-be 10-year-old boy--did I mention that? Here are some pulled-from-my-life stories that show how much things have changed out there:

My worst moment as a sports mom is about my occasionally embarrassing efforts to avoid becoming a pushy sports parent.

The ball hockey game that launched a thousand emails examines parenting, fear and safety in the digital age.

Phew! OK so a bushel of tomatoes is a little more gigantic/cavernous/never-ending than I imagined. In fact after I first began happily slapping pans of tomatoes into my oven for roasting, I looked at the gazillions that were left and—for a minute there—thought I was going to run from the house screaming.

But never mind all that. Over the course of three days last week I processed this parade of sun-warmed Roma magnificence from Highmark Farms in Cookstown, ON.

After first wheeling said bushel home from our local Fairmount Park Farmers’ Market in my Red Flyer wagon, the marathon began. I roasted, I blanched. I blended. I plopped sauce in Rubbermaid containers and made rustic labels (yes I did!). I popped whole tomatoes in freezer bags—with dates clearly marked in blue Sharpie. Those babies are all snug in my freezer now.

But this project didn’t just squirt tomato innards all over my kitchen and trigger eight extra dishwasher loads. Nope. What this project did was renew my appreciation for the quality of a homemade product (more on that later), but also for all the hard work performed by previous generations of (primarily) women.

Here I was proud/exhausted after a short bout of what can only be called “hobby” preserving. Today though, unlike generations past, I have choices. I’m not charged with preserving food to feed my family through a long cold winter. (Isn’t that what Loblaws is for?) 

Seriously though, what I am interested in is upping our consumption of quality local food, and becoming more conscious of all the inputs up and down the food chain. Yes, my project is small-scale. For some of you, one bushel of tomatoes is amateur league—you’re canning somersaults around me. But for those of you who are curious, who’ve been asking me about my tomato pile, I want to share a few thoughts. Here’s what I learned from one lovely locally grown bushel of tomatoes.

The plan
Like many of you out there, I confess to a fear of canning. I hope I get over it, but this year I chose the straightforward route of freezing. And I chose two methods requiring as little labour as possible:

1) Roasted tomato sauce. I followed this recipe from Disney Family.com. After roasting tomatoes (with skins left on) with garlic and herbs, you pulse with an immersion blender to create the sauce. I made one change, swapping in Balsamic vinegar for sugar. (Adding sugar just feels wrong to me.) Frozen sauce keeps four months in the freezer.

2) Whole, skinned tomatoes. I also used this recipe from TLC. Tomatoes keep up to nine months in the freezer.

Time
For me, processing was time-consuming but simple work. For the roasted sauce, after the first couple of batches, I doubled my capacity by putting batches on two oven racks. With the blanching method, once I did it a couple of times, I really sped up.

Quantity
All in all, my $25.00 bushel yielded about 20 Ziploc bags of Roma tomatoes (I was aiming for the same amount as a big can), plus roughly 20 cups of sauce. We ate some of the sauce right away, so it’s a little hard to calculate—yum!

Freezer space
Good news for those of you, like me, resisting the urge to buy a chest freezer. I scrounged enough space for a bushel of tomatoes right in my side-by-side. Two shelves are plenty!

Uses
Already, I've used my sauce to make a hearty tomato soup—just add a bit of stock and cream. I’ll also be making pasta sauce, chili, curries and other soups.

Quality
Best of all, what I’ve noticed right away with this tomatoes-gone-wild project, is the depth of flavour you get. With my sauce in particular, roasting at peak freshness has given me such a unique product--you just can't get this in stores. Will I do it again next year? Sign me up. I know the kind of work I’m getting into, but I'm also thrilled by what I get out of it!

But indeed, I felt more than a taste of terror that day. Besides the purest joy I felt at the end—the day was punctured by moments of panic, shame, anger, and a dash of despair. Recently, years after Zachary’s swift and frightening birth in a Toronto hospital, I’ve had a chance to learn a little more about what is sometimes called “fast labour”. One of its hallmarks is intense pain. I kind of likened it to being rent asunder. While I was still home, getting out of the shower, mild pain morphed into waves so intense, I dropped my hair dryer and simply lay on the floor writhing.

When a break finally came, I managed to pull on my hideous pair of greige maternity pants, and then Steve and I fled to the hospital. Cue the squealing tires, and panic, nurses rushing, clothes peeled off. That is, until it all screeched to a halt. After a young, inexperienced doc examined me, he dismissed me, “Nope. Long way to go. Cervix hasn’t even softened yet.”

Mutely, embarrassed for me, the nurses melted away. And for a brief while then, I felt the fool. So I had misread the signals? These lightening bolts of pain riding through my body—this was just…just the beginning? “How will I do this?” I asked myself, dumbfounded that an hour into labour I already felt defeated. And in that moment I felt that sense of connection and terrible awe. How many women around the world and through the ages had come to this exact point? Amid my fierce contractions, which had never stopped, a second doctor popped in for another look. He was, I suppose, my knight in shining armour. What of the first doctor’s assessment and that decided lack of cervical softness? “People!” he said, “That is the baby’s head. Let’s move!”

The medical machine sprung back into action: a birthing room, monitors, me trying to manage the right position for the baby lifeforce bursting its way out. As if things couldn’t get any crazier, I noticed doctors turning tense, grabbing equipment. Zach’s heart rate, they informed me, had started plummeting. And next I felt the agonizing stabs of some obstetrical-grade vacuum. With the suction helping Zach along, it was all yelling and pushing from me. And then it was over. He had arrived, my beautiful baby, safe and sound. Typical of babies from fast labours, Zachary was all pink and lovely, while I was almost unrecognizable—bloody, ghastly white, swollen and puffy, like something you’d see in a boxing ring.

At this time of year, Mother’s Day, like every mother, I’m filled with these messy memories of my baby’s birth. I’m also thankful that I laboured in a facility that offered a medical team, second opinions (!!), clean surroundings, and lifesaving meds and monitoring and equipment. Our system is not perfect. And yet compare Canada to a country like Uganda. In the developing world, mothers are hundreds of times more likely to die in childbirth. And at this most exciting but potentially frightening juncture, many women also face terrible indignities. Consider: “In Sub-Saharan Africa, for example, a woman has a lifetime risk of 1 in 39 of dying from pregnancy related complications…One in four women who die during childbirth simply bleed to death. This can often be prevented by a medication that costs less than 99 cents.”

Having become more aware of the global maternal health issue, our family has started participating, every Mother’s Day weekend, in the Toronto leg of the country-wide Save the Mothers annual walk. The walk raises funds for the work of Dr. Jean Chamberlain Froese. Canadian and Hamilton-trained, Jean and her family spend most of their year in Uganda, where she focuses on a local development approach, training and supporting local medical staff, and assisting women in labour.

For me, our family’s annual walk together is deeply meaningful. My son, happy and healthy, walks beside me, and we pass our local hospital along the way. The walk, a joyful, social thing, also has an occasional hush. Most profoundly, the walk mimics the distance a woman in the developing world might have to walk to hospital. This forms a powerful backdrop for my first-world Mother’s Day pressures—where to have brunch, what to buy for my own mom, and how to escape that Hallmark-imposed feeling I always sense nipping at the edges of this day?

We’ll be walking again this Saturday. If you want to join in, the walk is in East Toronto and there’s a great party at the end with a local high-school Steel Drum Band and my hubby Steve at the BBQ (link is below). Or if you’d like to sponsor us again this year and help women and babies in Uganda receive adequate obstetrical care, that link is below too.

Thanks for listening and I wish all of you a very Happy Mother’s Day.

Links:

- Facts from Save The Mothers: http://www.savethemothers.org/learn-the-issues/
- To see details about the Toronto event, click here.
- To sponsor me, click here.
- To read my article in the latest issue of Herizons magazine about socially conscious gifts for Mother’s Day, click here.

As I write this, our brand-new dog lies snoring gently at my feet—though always with one eye half-open. If you read my previous post, you could probably predict how this was going to go. Maybe better than me: I was nervous and full of second-guessing about this “Rusty”. But then we took a swing around the lake to his temporary suburban digs in Stoney Creek. (“You have a pool! In your backyard!” our city-kid Zach marveled to the foster couple.) And we found Rusty every bit as lovely as his profile said he was.

Rusty is soft and sweet. He gently rolls onto his back when he realizes you’re up for giving him some love. As for his manners—I’m just going to put it out there—we could see right away this guy was, ahem, a tad better behaved than our much-loved Zoe.

The only shocker came (still comes) looking at his ribcage. Past that strong Lab face and glossy coat, there’s a cruel count-every-rib gauntness. And just when you wouldn’t think Rusty could get any thinner, there’s just empty space where he should have a waist.

Before we knew it, we had Rusty in the hatch of our car. And quicker than you can snap your fingers, we are dog owners again. Having raised a breeder puppy before, Rusty takes some getting used to. There are all these missing pieces to the puzzle. It’s crazy. We know so little about him except that he’s come from a shelter in Ohio, is maybe 7 or 8, has been well-trained, and did well in foster care.

Thus far, Rusty’s settled in with a quiet thump and quickly accumulated a list of good points: He’s an easy guy in the house. No chewing furniture. No stealing or begging for food. He enjoys the backyard without a bark or a whimper. This big boy is perfectly content to sleep on the floor—and wouldn’t dream of claiming the couch, or the humans’ beds. And best, he’s been greeting neighbours and Zachary’s friends with just the right soupcon of friendly tail wagging, lowering his handsome head ever so slightly to receive hello pats.

Seems the only thing we need to train him on is his exuberance upon meeting other dogs. When it comes to other canines, Rusty is ready to party. I’m suspecting he was a country dog, or maybe a hunting dog, so needs some schooling on restrained city-dog hellos.

But the big job now is to feed him. And here I’m having fun and seeing little hints of what might have been. Unbelievably, for such an emaciated dog, Rusty is choosy. We’ve been offering him bowlfuls from the monster sack of kibble his foster family gave us, and hungry as he must be, he’ll politely walk away. Out of curiosity yesterday I threw some avocado in his bowl. Yum, he said. Then we tried some cans we still had of Zoe’s premium fish-oil laced lamb and rice. Double-yum. Similarly, he delicately polished off slices of bacon, oatmeal, and butter. Real food, man, he’s saying. I like real food.

When our family chose “rescue” over pedigree, we landed squarely in the middle of a growing North American trend. According to Linda Lord, a professor of veterinary medicine in Rusty’s home state of Ohio, “In general, across the country, the adoption rates have gone up.” And stats from the Humane Society of the United States and the A.S.P.C.A show this trend is making a huge difference in kill statistics. Today in the U.S., an estimated “3 million and 4 million unwanted dogs and cats are euthanized annually. Forty years ago, an estimated 20 million annually were euthanized.”

It’s not all rainbows and puppy licks of course. Rescue dogs aren’t for everyone. I just read today that almost half of rescue dogs get returned right back to foster care. Even a sweet dog like Rusty was just returned by one family last weekend—in that case, the family’s cats scratched and hissed ‘no deal’. But by applying our previous experience as dog owners and choosing a dog that seems suited to us, we’re hoping we’ll have better luck. For his part, Rusty is enjoying some peace and quiet and I think he’s getting more comfortable. I just saw his eye close.

More:
- “Kill rates vary widely at Ohio dog shelters”. An article from The Columbus Dispatch on the patchwork condition of Ohio’s animal shelter and adoption system, and the rising popularity of “rescue” animals.
- “Ad Featuring Singer Proves Bonanza for the A.S.P.C.A.” New York Times, December 25, 2008. Great article about how those ASPCA ads by Canadian singer Sarah McLachlin made a huge difference.
- “To the Rescue. Nearly 20% of dogs and cats are adopted. Here's how to streamline your search for the perfect pet.” Prevention, November 2011.  

Is it too soon? Am I going to regret this? What if I don’t like him when I meet him? Tonight around 6 p.m. our family is going on a blind date. We’ll be meeting Rusty, a 65-pound bundle of well-aged chocolate Lab currently residing in a foster home.

At about 7 or 8 years old, and with his greying snout, he’s not a highly sought after companion. But something about him has drawn us in. I saw him first this weekend—a sad case of online dating where I kept telling myself I wasn’t really looking, just seeing what’s out there. Then I saw Rusty’s profile. Even after the pages upon pages of “rescue” dogs I saw next—beseeching eyes, mewling puppies you could cradle with one arm—Rusty seemed to have claimed me already. Part of it may be practical. I liked these words from his foster mom: “amazing quiet and gentle soul”, “fully house trained”, “soooo gentle with EVERYONE.”

But I can only partially explain why this dog feels so right. Saturday afternoon I showed his profile to my husband and held my breath. Was it just me? I walked away but his stillness at the computer, punctuated only by the occasional click (scrolling down), told me he was similarly engaged with Rusty and his story.

Having lost our own dog prematurely (she died at age 10 just over three months ago), Steve and I are not yet keen for the lightning jolt of a puppy in the house. Our son, small surprise, is desperate to get a puppy but, slowly, even he has become receptive to adopting a shelter animal. This older dog and particularly his mystery seem more right somehow. His foster mom says his eyes tell a story of “love lost”, writing, “I wish he could talk and tell us what happened to separate him from someone who obviously loved him very much.”

Perhaps that’s why we connect. Our dog Zoe left suddenly too. It was only in January that we learned her cancer had resurfaced, aggressively, and two weeks later we gathered to put her down. There was a great deal of crying around here, not to mention a great river of unexpected kindnesses: cards, pictures, emails, and even a food basket. Friends and family have visited and let us talk about her.

My way of handling that loss of dog love has been to walk our friends’ dogs—two in particular. The dogs lure me away from my hermit-like hunching at the computer. I rediscover walking and sunshine and that happy-doggie-love feeling. But that isn’t the real reason I’m about to go and stand on a stranger’s doorstep.

Oh no. My son got me here. Not sure how it crystallized—was it the page-long essay he just wrote at school all about his dog? Was it his occasional tears or his comment after we had a friend’s dog in for the day: “Mom when [so-and-so] was here, didn’t it feel like our family again?” He’s also complained that since Zoe died we’re always on him. Probably true. My son has been realizing the impact of loss, and reacquainting me with the benefits of pet ownership for a one-child family. When I add these things up it’s a strong case.

So—insert small sigh here—much as I’m enjoying wantonly setting appetizers on the coffee table and giving my vacuum cleaner a break, I’m accepting it. This house is likely to see sloppy dog bowls and fresh dust bunnies sooner than I expected. It’s just makes sense for us.

Will Rusty be the one? I admit I’m drawn to the poetry. He’s a dog who’s lost his family. We’re a family that’s lost our dog. Can we find happiness together? Will it be the dog behind door number 1? It can’t be that easy, can it? I’ve already prepared myself that something will go wrong—or weird. But even so, we’re heading out on the QEW tonight to give Rusty a chance. What’s going to happen? We're about to find out.

Earlier this month the headline screamed at me: “99% of GTA children not getting enough exercise: study.” That’s hard to ignore. When the findings are that across-the-board, even parents with active, athletic kids have to ask themselves, ‘Is my kid getting enough exercise?’

Did you see this study? If you missed it, here’s the gist. Researchers in Toronto recently visited 16 schools and fitted 856 kids in Grades 5 and 6 with gizmos called accelerometers. Then they tracked and recorded kids’ actual activity, not—ahem—self-reported activity. In a city like Toronto, researchers expected “children to perform better than the national average, given that there are more opportunities and resources here,” reported the Toronto Star. What they found was crushing:
- 99% of GTA children don’t get enough exercise (that is, 60 minutes of “moderate to vigorous” activity per day)
- girls fared significantly worse than boys—getting 24 minutes of a day to boys’ average 35 minutes.

I’m the mom of one highly athletic and active Grade 3 boy (he fights to wear shorts in November and seems to vibrate even when sitting still). So I figured we have to be in that other 1%, right? ‘How could my son not be getting 60 minutes of activity per day?’

So I created a chart (you can see it below) and set out to track as accurately as I could how much activity my son is getting. In the absence of an accelerometer, my results are far more subjective, but I tried to be as honest as I could.

What I found was somewhat hopeful—Zach seems to meet the minimum daily activity requirements, if not a bit more. Even better, and this applies more broadly, his regular TDSB school day offers great opportunities to get active: through recess and lunch, and through scheduled gym class and pool time. Throw in some extra-curriculars and free play time, and on paper at least, getting 60 minutes seems totally doable.

But as the recent study showed, it’s not happening. And even parents like me, with highly active kids, have reason to worry. In fact, when I drill down into my chart, I see vulnerabilities at every step. Consider the following:
- Inactivity creep - My son is in Grade 3. Study participants were in Grades 5 and 6. Activity levels decrease over time. Scary.
- Lunch and recess – At our school, free time here adds almost 200 minutes per week. But the onus is largely on our kids to make the most of this time (and since parents aren’t there, it’s hard for us to gauge how this time is actually working). Plus, the older kids get the less cool it becomes to for example, chase your friends around playing tag. My son and his friends’ current favourite ways to enjoy free time include soccer, baseball, and various forms of tag. However, like my son says, some kids are starting to spend recess “just talking”. To him that’s still akin to torture, but I can see how that could change by the time he's the age of study participants.
- Uneven access to extra-curriculars – My son gets another good portion of his activity thanks to the fact that we have the ability to pay. But many extra-curriculars (like hockey) are expensive, putting kids from lower-income homes at a disadvantage. This year it's gotten even trickier due to the local teachers' union (EFTO) work action. Free after-school sports extra-curriculars were suspended this year (although that may be changing as I write). Big-picture, this means kids' organized sports involvement can be affected by economics and politics.
- Pool time threatened – Students at our school have a pool and swimming is part of the student curriculum. Not all TDSB students have this perk and even at our school, we’re always fighting to keep the pool open. The same goes for other community recreation centres. That’s another vulnerability.
- Ad hoc – These are the kinds of activities that give my son the most joy—impromptu street hockey games, Nerf-gun battles, after school tobogganing, tag, and baseball, not to mention the ping pong and soccer games he plays with us or his buddies in our rec room. The older he gets though, the more I see this changing. Weekends are scheduled up, friends are captivated by TV, their DS’s and Wii’s, and homework projects encroach on free time.
- Gender stereotypes - Many of the sports my son is involved in see less co-ed participation each year. Today, when it comes to sports, we still seem to cheer on our boys more—with the frightening result that girls are getting way less exercise.

Bottom line: Our kids do have some opportunities for activity each day but, like a great pile of Jenga blocks, the whole thing is just waiting to be knocked down. Getting our kids 60 minutes of solid activity per day is doable, but without a concerted family, school and community action plan, chances are it’s not going to happen.

My Chart:

SCHOOL ACTIVITY
School swim class: 1 x 30 minutes/wk or 30 minutes weekly
Gym class: 2 x 30 minutes/wk or 60 minutes weekly
Recess: 5 x 24 minutes/wk or 120 minutes weekly
Lunch: 5 x 15 minutes/wk or 75 minutes weekly
TOTAL 285 minutes weekly = 40.7 minutes per day

Extra-curriculars
Swimming lessons:  1 x 40 minutes or 40 minutes weekly
Hockey games: 1 x 20 minutes (40 min. total, real play=20 min.) or 20 minutes weekly
Hockey practice: Alternate weeks 1 x 60 minutes or 30 minutes weekly
Ball Hockey league: 1 x 60 minutes/wk (60 min. total=real play=50 min.) or 50 minutes weekly
TOTAL 140 minutes weekly = 20.0 minutes per day

Ad-hoc
Walk to school:  2 x 3 minutes/day or 30 minutes weekly
Playing outside or indoor sports (street hockey, running around, skating, soccer, ping pong):
    20 minutes/day or 140 minutes weekly
TOTAL: 170 minutes weekly = 24.3 minutes per day

WEEKLY TOTAL = 85 minutes per week

More:
- 99% of GTA children not getting enough exercise: study." The Toronto Star, March 4, 2013
- The actual study if you want to have a look:  How active are children in Toronto? A comparison with accelerometry data from the Canadian Health Measures Survey

This is a chilling tale of a bear I met on vacation.

But first I should probably ask if I'm the only one. Do family visits to the zoo ever make you uneasy too? And I’m not just talking about prices here. I'm talking about all those animals in their enclosures. Do you find yourself wondering about them? Ever since the story of the Toronto Zoo’s elephants exploded, there’s been lots of talk in our house about animals in captivity. If elephants are suffering so acutely—isolated and crushingly lonely, feet damaged and constantly infected from the concrete paths they were never meant to endure, dying prematurely—what about other animals? Are they suffering too?

What a fraught issue this is for families. On the one hand, viewing animals with our kids can invoke a rapturous joy and love of nature. I’ll always remember the way my son rushed at the aquariums at the zoo when he was a little guy. Nose-pressed, he would stand there endlessly captivated by these tiny flitting exotic fish. And doesn’t stuff like this give our kids a desire to respect and preserve the environment?

But more and more, zoo trips fill me with nagging questions. Here’s an example. On our recent March Break trip to Charleston, SC we visited Charlestown Landing, a historical state park which also features a small zoo. In the “Animal Forest”, you get to traipse along wooden boardwalks, masses of Spanish moss trailing in the breeze, and see animals that are (or were in olden days) native to the Lowcountry. As has become a habit for us, we critiqued the animals’ habitats. “The birds can’t fly away?!” my son asked eying all the netting around the seabird enclosure. There was little signage, so we couldn’t tell whether the egrets, pelicans and such, had been injured and rescued—or not. The otters, with their bubbling river and stone enclosure, seemed to be thriving though.

Then came the kicker. In the next enclosure, I stared straight into the eyes of a single black bear (although reportedly he has a roommate). It felt Alice-in-Wonderland strange. Perched on a wooden structure, placid and still, he looked like an overstuffed toy. Maddeningly though, I couldn’t find any details about this bear. What was the back story here? “I’ve got to look into this,” I told myself.

Well today I did. And the story that I uncovered about this bear literally gave me chills. Just a couple of clicks on Google and I found the story of “Memphis”. Last year, this 450-pound black bear was found “in the backyard of a Lowcountry residence, chained to a tree or pacing back and forth in a small dog trot”. I also read that South Carolina is “the only state where keeping bears and other wild animals, even cobras, is legal.”

While Memphis is safe now, some black bears in the state have seen a worse fate. My brief search also turned up news of an unspeakable underground practice of animal abuse that apparently still occurs today in Pakistan and South Carolina. It’s called “bear baying”. In 2010, the Associated Press broke the story including video evidence of baying events. I still haven’t been able to bring myself to watch what’s happening to these bears or even write about it in my own words but here’s how the Humane Society of the United States describes it. I’ll warn you. This is really tough to read:

“A black bear cowers in the corner of a pen in rural South Carolina. She is tethered to a stake, surrounded by hundreds of onlookers.

She is foaming at the mouth and popping her jaws, behavior that means she is terrified. Her captors have cut or removed her claws and many of her teeth, leaving her defenseless.

Three hounds run at the bear from one end of the arena, barking furiously. Some of them bite her face and legs. Others jump on her. She backs up on her hind legs, trying vainly to shield her face. The assault continues for four hours, as nearly 300 dogs attack her in quick succession.

This spectacle is a bear baiting competition, called a "bear bay" by participants, and is practiced only in South Carolina. It is similar to the archaic blood sport of bear baiting.”

HSUS investigators videotaped this scene during visits to four bear baiting events in the state hosted by breed clubs associated with American Kennel Club and United Kennel Club. According to attendees, the bear used in some of these events was a 15-year-old female taken from the wild as a cub.

On its website, the South Carolina Department of Natural Resources has this statement:

Please know that S.C. Department of Natural Resources (SCDNR) does not consider bear baying/baiting a legitimate field trial and has never issued and will not issue permits for this activity.

As required by SC law, the only captive bears the SCDNR has permitted are those that were in captivity before January 1, 2006, and for which owners provided proof of possession prior to that date. No additional permits will be or have been issued for the captive possession of black bears in South Carolina, other than those legally possessed in another state and brought into South Carolina for temporary exhibition.

SCDNR does not consider the possession of black bears by individuals to be biologically sound, safe for the local community, or in the best long-term interest of the wild black bear resource. No further reproduction of captive black bears will be allowed in South Carolina.

In 2008, the South Carolina Attorney General issued an opinion that it is possible for bear baying/baiting to be prosecuted as animal cruelty under Title 47.

Activists maintain that an underground baying practice continues to exist. And petitions against this continue to circulate.

Asking questions about Memphis the bear led me to a horrible story of inhumanity, but I uncovered some signs of hope too. While Memphis endured years of mistreatment and is now unable to cope in the wild, he's been rescued and found a home at Charlestown Landing. And apparently there’s no evidence Memphis endured baying. Is the Animal Forest the best place for him? I don’t know, but I also know, he’s in a far better place today—and that things could be infinitely worse.

Sometimes zoos present us with stories like this. And sometimes on a simple trip to the zoo we encounter plenty of gray areas and ethical juggernauts. But there's more to the story. Zoos are also evolving, aiming to rescue animals, and/or protect and encourage endangered species. They're also looking at completely altering their animal environments. I think it’s worth staying in the loop, visiting zoos, and most of all, asking lots of hard questions. After all, for the Toronto Zoo’s elephants, it was such questions—from one passionate city councillor named Michelle Berardinetti—that changed everything. As I write, three weary elephants, Toka, Thika and Iringa, are reportedly this close to being loaded onto military helicopters and winging their way towards the warm embrace of a California sanctuary. I think that’s pretty awesome.

More:
"Rescued bear now living at Charles Towne Landing," Post and Courier
"Investigation Documents Cruelty of Bear Baiting," The Humane Society of the United States, August 2010
"Uncovered in South Carolina: Bear Abuse for Show", Huffington Post, August 23, 2010
"Information Regarding Bear Baying/Baiting," www.dnr.sc.gov/admin/bearbb.html
"Zoo's elephants will be sent to sanctuary," Toronto Star, October 25, 2011
"RCAF Asked to Help Transport Three Toronto Zoo Elephants to California:Zoo Check," Montreal Gazette, March 21, 2013

Be honest. Does your family like salad? Too often, green salads are a sad afterthought—what a girl on a first date is supposed to order when she’d really rather have the pork ribs. At home, I've often thoughtlessly thrown them together. But even in good restaurants, I’m surprised at how often “side salad” means I get the same old bagged greens, served past their prime and weighed down with an oily vinaigrette.

It’s a shame. Done right, salads can seize the limelight, not just hang back, ever the grumpy dieter’s consolation prize. But that's not all. They may seem slight and insubstantial, but leafy greens are loaded with nutrition. Lettuces deliver heaps of fibre, vitamins, minerals and powerful antioxidants. And that’s before you add in those lovely, colourful veggies. So I’ve been taking notes. Whenever I encounter a salad that has me craving seconds, I ask why. What makes this one special? Over time I’ve seen some commonalities emerge and figured out what works, at least for me.

My tips are not foolproof. Salad-resistant kids are always tough customers. But overall, I’ve found these steps will get people—even non-salad eaters—to eat way more salad. Whether I'm serving family or dinner guests, the rising salad consumption is so consistent, so noticeable, I have to smile to myself every time it happens. People pound the table (really) and say things like, “That salad is dynamite!” or “Is it OK if I have the rest of that?” or simply “Mmmmm.” If I wasn’t encouraging people to eat such wonderfully healthy stuff, it would be almost…unethical.

Curious? Here are my six easy steps to increased salad consumption. Give these a try. See what happens.

1. Homemade croutons
Nothing makes a salad quite as special as fresh homemade croutons—coincidentally also a great way to use up stale bread. I heat a pan, melt in a blob of real butter, then toss in my cubed bread and wait. I like to mix it up, to make a bold statement with a dark rye, or throw in an unexpected texture with herbed focaccia, crunchy pita strips, or heavenly sourdough. Once croutons are a near-perfect golden brown, I grate a bit of Parmesan Reggiano overtop and gently stir to give these yummy bite-sized pockets a decadent crunch.

2. Ditch the bag
It took me a while to realize I don’t like bagged salad greens all that much. So convenient and nicely packaged, I’ve bought them for years without a second thought. But for me convenience trumps taste and too often, the stuff gets slimy before I can use it. Ultimately, yes, fresh lettuce requires more work. But it also lasts longer in the fridge, costs less, and makes a salad sing. Buttery Boston, delicate read leaf, crisp Romaine, peppery Arugula—rinse, dry, and lavish an assortment of gorgeous greenery into your salad bowl.

3. Fresh ingredients
Soups forgive, but a salad is no place for wilted carrots, or aging spinach. When I place only the freshest ingredients in my salads, I have more appetite for them, and so do my guests.

4. Cheese
I love this part! In most of my salads, I wantonly crumble in bits of creamy cheese, whether a veined, assertive blue, some salty Feta, or a milder goat cheese. Later when I’m tossing my salad, I love the way the cheese distributes, leaving traces of creamy goodness everywhere. For a Caesar, I omit those sorts of cheeses but grate in some fresh Parmesan instead.

5. Homemade dressing
Again, an extra step, I know. But here again, it makes your salad that much more unforgettable. On the good side, making a dressing only takes a minute. The rule of thumb is three parts oil to one part acid. Then, I add in a little salt and pepper, or get fancy with some mustard, fresh herbs, whatever seems right.
  
6. Contrast
My last tip calls for artistry. When making a salad I always step back at some point and ask about contrast. Is there visual contrast?—for example, dark croutons against greens and white cheese? Is there a balance of salty and sweet tastes, and of softness and crunch? For sweetness, I might add berries or cherry tomatoes, and for saltiness, I love olives, or, gasp, flecks of bacon. Then, if there’s not enough crunch, I might add in toasted walnuts, chopped celery, or again, bacon. Sigh.

There you have it, my ground rules for better, dare I say addictive salads. So much fun and so good for you!

More:
“What’s the most nutritious lettuce?”, The Globe and Mail
"The Healthiest Salad Greens," Huffington Post
"Ten Salad Dressings," Chef Michael Smith

 What’s the best way to convince meat lovers to “Put. The. Drumstick. Down?!” Nothing works better for my guys than earthy, gorgeous black beans.

Nutrition
As a meat replacement black beans really deliver. They’re not only low-cost and delicious, but a nutritional powerhouse, packing in—well you name it—fiber, protein, antioxidants, calcium, folic acid, plus important minerals like iron, magnesium and potassium. They even contain small amounts of omega-3 fatty acids.

On the side
With meatless meals, I work a little harder with extras to add a luxurious feel. This soup becomes special with a few tasty additions: sprinkles of fresh cilantro and green onion, a simple guacamole, creamy organic yoghurt, and corn tortilla chips fresh from the oven with a bit of oozy cheese on top.

Canned or dried?
The other issue when cooking beans usually becomes “canned or dried”? In true less-meatarian style, I’d say that’s up to you. In my house, I keep both canned and dried beans on-hand. When I’m stuck for time, canned beans are perfect. However, I also find that dried beans elevate this dish to another level, so try them if you get the chance!

BLACK BEAN SOUP
This is hands-down my favourite way of using black beans.

Ingredients
2 tbsp olive oil
2 cups dried black beans, rinsed & soaked overnight (or 2 cans black beans, rinsed)
1 onion, finely chopped
2 cloves of garlic, finely chopped
1 rib celery, finely chopped
1 medium carrot, peeled and chopped
1 medium zucchini, chopped
1 small red pepper, chopped
1 cup frozen corn kernels
½ tsp finely chopped and seeded fresh jalapeno (optional)
1 tbsp cumin (or more if you like)
2 tsp chili powder
Salt and pepper to taste
5 cups good-quality vegetable broth (chicken broth works well too)
1 cup water

Sides
Chopped cilantro and green onions (optional)
Que Pasa Organic Tortilla Chips
ounce or two of cheddar or similar cheese
1 ripe avocado
1 fresh lime
Plan organic yoghurt
Hot pepper sauce

Instructions
- In a large soup pan, heat olive oil.
- Add onion and garlic and sauté for a minute or so. Add celery and carrot and sauté for another couple of minutes. Add zucchini, red pepper and corn. Continue sautéing for a couple of minutes.
- Next add black beans, jalapeno (if using), cumin, chili powder, and salt and pepper. Sauté until spices are fragrant.
- Add broth and water.
- Cover and simmer for 2 to 2 ½ hours, stirring occasionally. (If soup is becoming too thick, add a little more water.)

When soup is almost done
- Taste soup, confirm beans have softened nicely. Also season as required.
- Smash one ripe avocado and add your desired combination of: salt, fresh lime juice, chopped cilantro and red pepper sauce.
- Place tortilla chips in an ovenproof dish and sprinkle with grated cheddar or similar cheese. Place in 350”F oven until cheese melts.

When soup is done
- Using a handheld immersion blender, pulse the soup to give it some creaminess. (Do this to your desired consistency.)
- Serve soup with yoghurt, guacamole and chips, cilantro, green onions and hot pepper sauce, which all work equally well as soup garnish, or a side...or both.

Less-meatarian note: A bit of leftover meat (beef, chicken, smoked sausage or crumbled bacon) makes a great addition to this soup as well, for those times you may not be going meatless.

More:
"Make or buy? Canned vs. homemade beans," www.thekitchn.com
"The battle of the beans: which are best?," The Today Show
“Black Beans: Nutrition From South of the Border,” The New York Times
My previous blog post on "less-meatarianism"

When it comes to being environmentally friendly, I like steps that DON'T involve: a) total deprivation, and/or b) obscene price tags. While solar panels, for instance, would be great for my house, that’s not a simple or affordable proposition—at least not yet.

One great-but-doable step I have taken though is to become a “less-meatarian”. This is a term and lifestyle change I first came across while reading New York Times writer Mark Bittman. Basically it means eating a whole lot less meat. How you do that is up to you.

Does skipping the occasional double-cheeseburger really matter? The UN has estimated that livestock production creates almost 20 percent of the world’s greenhouse gases. And according to Bittman, a University of Chicago study has “calculated that if Americans were to reduce meat consumption by just 20 percent it would be as if we all switched from a standard sedan — a Camry, say — to the ultra-efficient Prius.” But eating like this could also save you money, lower your risk of cancer and heart disease, and renew your passion in the kitchen. 

Let’s be honest. We’re not all inclined to forgo meat completely. (I’ll include my family here because we still love a nice steak now and then. And if you think everything tastes better with bacon, uh, I’m going to say you’re so, so right.) Realistically, many observers feel we have a better chance of turning things around via the less rigid principles of less-meatarianism — making real changes, but without banishing Thanksgiving turkeys and weekend eggs Benny forever.

At our house, we’ve been less-meatarian for years. Okay, we blow it a bit during BBQ season, but overall, the changes have stuck. Rather than a sense of deprivation, our tastes have shifted so we now actually crave all those veggies. Over the next few Mondays, in Meatless Monday tradition (which actually began in World War I — who knew?), I'll share some of my favourite veg recipes. 

But I'd love more variety over here too! Have a great meatless recipe to share? Please post it. I may just try your dish and show the results!

More:
The Meatless Monday movement, www.meatlessmonday.com/
Mark Bittman’s article, Rethinking the Meat-Guzzler
My previous post about food waste
My article on Reducing your family’s meat consumption