My first experience with raw milk happened in the throes of labor…
No, not my labor. I was doula-ing for a single first-time mother a couple of years ago, and she lived a little ways outside of town with her parents. Her parents had a farm with many cows, and her mother had a milk cow.
In between contractions, knukkles massages, and rebozo-ing, her mother asked me if I wanted something to eat or drink, and she offered me raw milk.
“Well, I’ve never had it,” I said.
“Oh! Well then you’re missing out!” she told me matter-of-factly. “I’ll pour you a glass!”
While I helped her daughter through another contraction, she poured me a tall glass and set it down on the coffee table.
Sixty-seconds later, I had my first taste of raw milk. It felt creamy and sweet as it slid down my throat, and it was so rich that I could only drink half of it.
“This is fantastic!” I said.
I won’t go through the details of the birth, but the next day we had a healthy baby boy. And the family was so kind as to extend to me an offer of a gallon of raw milk for a week, so long as they had extra.
For a few months, I was blessed with raw milk, until one day, she told me she was drying up her cow.
By then, I was hooked! I desperately wanted another source, so I Googled raw milk, and found tennesseansforrawmilk.com. I quickly typed in my name and email so that I could get a list of raw milk sources in my area, I got the list, and moved on. What I hadn’t accounted for was that I would continue to receive their newsletter, put out by Shawn Dady, President of Tennesseans For Raw Milk, and a Weston A. Price Chapter Leader.
For over a year, I got that newsletter, and I used many of the sources listed within to find local producers of pastured meat or eggs.
And for over a year, I failed to realize what the little letters “WAPF” in the signature meant.
Then, one day, I watched Mama Natural‘s absolutely hilarious videos, “Sh*t Crunchy Mamas Say” parts I and II. And after identifying with nearly everything in the videos (“It’s actually EYE-na May Gaskin.”), I realized that the only thing I didn’t have a CLUE what she was talking about was the name Weston A. Price.
Google to the rescue!
What I discovered was a wealth of information to supplement a lifestyle I was already living and a wonderful and resourceful community of people to plug into that believe in the same kinds of things.
Now, I think of the name “Weston Price” as a sort of modern day ichthus for crunchy people. Seriously, it’s like a stealth code.
You can be in the middle of a conversation, casually say, “Weston Price?” and if they’ve heard of it or are fellow Weston Pricers, then YAY!—you can now talk about the same things without fear of judgement or appearing overly excited about chicken liver or a great price on raw grassfed butter!
But if they haven’t heard of Weston Price, you can either (A) introduce them to it or (B) casually say, “Oh nevermind,” smile, and keep on talking. : )
I know that a lot of people are against labels, but I like this one because it represents an idea to me. Saying I’m a “Weston Pricer” doesn’t mean that I worship at the alter of Weston Price, because I don’t. But it is pretty dang convenient when I’m trying to describe my lifestyle, and “real foodie” “healthy” “natural living” “organic” just doesn’t cut it. Those things just don’t even come close! One mention of Weston Price though, and people are like OHHHH you drink BONE BROTH and eat BUTTER.
I love when this happens to me. What about you? :)
And yes, I have reached into someone’s fridge, with the same facial expression, and said, “We totally shop at the same farmer!” :)