Meat is probably the least transparent business on earth.
Our desire for cheap meat has created an industrial system that sates the American appetite of an estimated 200 pounds of meat per person each year. That’s about twice the global average. Plus, we seem to know very little about something we eat an awful lot.
The industrial meat business is predominately a closed system that takes place behind gated complexes, far from the potential consumer.
Traveling north on Todds Point Road, just before you get deep into the country, there is a large woodpile on the east side of the road. Roughly the size of the modest house and three greenhouses it surrounds, the woodpile seems to be way too much to heat a home, especially as we turn the corner into spring and summer.
So what’s the purpose of such a massive amount of wood? Well, Kenneth Terrell will tell you, if you have a few minutes to listen to his tale.
If the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, then Cherry Settle must have a claim on her husband Tommy’s heart for the next millennium.
The couple’s beautiful 144-year-old antebellum-style home on Shelbyville Road, where they have resided for the past four decades and raised their two children, Jennifer and Tommy Jr., was the former residence of Col. Harland Sanders and his wife, Claudia.
And while changes occur over forty years, the Settles could never change one thing that helped launch an American icon.
The wind in her hair, with sounds of the most dangerous animals on earth roaring in her ears on the plains of Africa, Marty Mason of Bagdad has proven time and again why she ranked among the top five in the international Extreme Huntress competition last year.
Her home in Bagdad, where she lives with her husband, Bob, features a trophy room the couple built after they discovered the joys of big-game hunting in Africa in 2008, and the walls are adorned with dozens of trophies from zebra to hippo to antelope.
For the fourth year in a row, animal lovers turned out in droves to pack Claudia Sanders Dinner House to raise money for animals.
“Are we sold out – are you kidding?” said Kate Raisor, glancing around at the horde of 350-plus patrons, mostly decked out in various hues of red, pink and black, milling around the banquet room Friday night.