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Two gophers have been trapped and died since I arrived at the farm.  They’re terrifically destructive little beasts.  One of them took out 15 tomato plants before he succumbed to his love of peanut butter, smeared on a trap.  I have uncomfortable, mixed feelings about this.

Food is the result of a cycle of life and death.  Plants can manufacture their food from sunlight, soil, and water.  We are not so fortunate.  Our lives are the result of the death of many, many beings.  Even vegans’ lives depend on the death of not only plants, but also of pests.  Without control of any kind, gophers, beetles, and caterpillars would consume our crops.  Even an organic farm with a respect for life has to consider how it will control its pests so it can yield food for humans.

Still, it’s uncomfortable.

It’s uncomfortable for reasons of both empathy and cognitive dissonance.  As a person who is highly empathetic (and also animist, believing all living things – and even some non-living ones – have souls), I feel for the beings I eat.  I can imagine their feelings, their suffering, their desire to keep living.  All beings have an innate desire to keep living, and my desire to do so takes that capacity from others.

Silly or not to others, with every gopher trap, inside I am saying a little prayer to the gopher.  I say I am sorry.  I tell the gopher that it could live, if it would leave the farm.  And I hope that if it doesn’t leave, and is trapped, that its death is swift and without suffering.  A gopher’s death, or a chicken’s death, or a carrot’s death – should make us pause and reflect.  We should feel a sense of the sacredness of these beings’ sacrifice for our own lives to continue.  Perhaps if we felt this, we would be more insistent on farming in ways that are humane as well as sustainable.  We can’t live without death.  But we can treat death with the respect, sanctity, and compassion it deserves.