This post is a continuation of my experience shadowing a shepherd. After spending the morning
Like our boobs, all udders are different — and Vincenzo knows every single one of his sheeps'.
We honor Pasquale the pig's life by raising our glasses and saying a toast for him at our pork-packed feast.
The deep, earthy, dirty scent of sheep is quite pungent yet bittersweet, reminding me of my late grandfather and his favourite place.
When the production of our food becomes invisible to us, we lose our connection to the very thing that sustains us. In this experience, I found gratitude.
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