(I bring a sort of “Everyone has inherent worth regardless of their productivity” Vibe to every conversation that ableists don’t really seem to like)
Nutella Marshmallow Turnovers
Let's be more ratty this year.
You can be whatever you want. It’s not my job, nor is it anyone else’s job, to police identities. In the grand scheme of life, labels don’t mean anything. Call yourself whatever you want.
Trying to prove a point...
One quiet day on the farm, the Little Red Hen found some wheat seeds and decided to make bread.
"Who will help me plant these seeds?" the Little Red Hen asked.
"I would." said the Horse "But I'm a workhorse, and I'm too busy moving carts around."
And so the Little Red Hen planted the seeds by herself. And they grew into bountiful golden crops.
"Who will help me harvest the wheat?" the Little Red Hen asked.
"I would." said the Dog "But I'm a guarddog, and I'm too busy keeping away burglars and predators."
And so the Little Red Hen harvested the wheat herself and made it into flour.
"Who will help me bake the flour?" the Little Red Hen asked.
"I would." said the Pig "But I'm a mother of 5 newborn piglets, and I'm too busy taking care of my young."
And so the Little Red Hen baked the bread herself into twenty beautiful loaves.
"Who will help me eat the bread?" the Little Red Hen asked.
"We would." said the Farm Animals. "But we're ashamed, for we didn't do anything to make the bread."
"Nonsense!" said the Little Red Hen. "You, Horse, helped move around the stones that built my oven. You, Dog, kept me safe while I worked. And you, Pig, are raising a new generation of Farm Animals, who will too contribute to our Farm one day. You've all helped me so much by simply being you."
"Besides," the Little Red Hen added. "I couldn't possibly eat all the loaves on my own, most of them would go to waste. Come, eat with me."
And so the Little Red Hen and the Farm Animals ate the bread together. And all saw their own, and each other's, worth.
When I die, I don't want to be embalmed. I don't want to be cremated, I WANT TO ROT.
I want my body to be buried as it is and an apple or walnut tree planted over me. I want to go back to being a part of mother earth and I want my body to feed that tree so that i can continue to care for my loved ones well after my death.
I want my grand babies' grand babies to pick the fruit of that tree, knowing their mammaw is buried underneath, feeding, and caring for them the way I would my own babies. I want them to climb into the branches like they were climbing into my arms so that I can hold them and let them know they are loved even after I am dead.
When branches die and fall from my tree, I want them burned to provide my family with warmth in the winter. I want the children to roast marshmallows and cook over the fire that is fed by the wood from the tree I am buried under. I want to never not be a part of the family bon fires. My children will drink beers and tell stories around the fire as we do now, always knowing Mama's spirit is there.
I grew my babies in my body fed them with my body as infants, and when I die, I want my body to continue to provide for and nurture my family for countless generations to come.
Also I don't want the government knowing where I'm buried