By Nola Lee Kelsey What child wouldn't dream of visiting a waffle farm? Pure innocents and sticky sweet goodness run wild through their imaginations. Good news! They actually exist. Glorious places overflowing with waffles are concentrated in states like South Dakota, Missouri, Tennessee and Pennsylvania. Heavenly farms produce waffles, waffles and more waffles. The scent of butter envelopes these special farming communities.
For years now the Jones family has loved their waffles. They enjoy them daily. They have even joined a club, sharing a common bond with others who also cherish the Jones's favorite breed of waffle - the Belgium waffle.
When it was time for another Jones family vacation, they called a meeting over breakfast. Papa Jones and little Jenny wanted to go volunteer at an animal rescue in Utah. Mama Jones wanted to take a cruise. She likes the morning buffet. Then little Jimmy Jones looked down at his plate. Suddenly, he jumped up. "I've got it!" he shouted. "Let's go visit a waffle farm." "Yippee!" they all exclaimed. It was a brilliant idea. The matter was settled. The Jones family would visit a waffle farm and frolic among pure fluffy goodness for days on end. Little did they know this vacation would change their lives.
As it turned out most of the places where waffles are farmed, actually called waffle mills, don't encourage visitors to stop in. They all have websites featuring photos of beautiful fluffy waffles of every size and shape. But the websites were focused on mail order waffles and sales to stores. Stores are where waffles and waffle supplies are usually sold to the public. The Joneses were undaunted. They headed for South Dakota.
The family visited Mount Rushmore, the Badlands, Deadwood and more. Along the way they asked the citizens of South Dakota about visiting one of the waffle mills their state was so famous for. No one could help. Some appeared to not realize they were living in one of the nations top waffle mill hot spots. Others didn't care about waffles at all. Most seemed to have heard of the farms but did not know much about them or where they were. "South Dakota is renowned for its waffle mills", Mama snapped in frustration. Jenny Jones began to cry.
Had they made a mistake? They had considered visiting Pennsylvania. Until recently it appeared the state of Pennsylvania was almost as proud and protective of their waffle mills as they are of the Liberty Bell. Their plans changed when they heard that the Government of Pennsylvania was cracking down on waffle mills under pressure from fans of the Oprah Winfrey Show. Apparently Lisa Ling had filmed an exposé on a few bad waffle mills. It all seemed so silly. After all, waffles are all that is good and right with the world. Why stop making them in mass? At least in South Dakota government and citizens do nothing to stop the mills.
Jenny cried again. "Enough!" said Papa. He grabbed a map from the glove box and headed across South Dakota's open prairie. The family was headed for Baconville, a town where many store bought waffles were reputed to come from. Upon the Jones' arrival at Baconeville the family became a bit confused. The small dusty streets did not smell like maple syrup. Not even close. The smell was more like rotten eggs and flour mold. Surely they would not create good pure waffles out of less than perfect ingredients Mama Jones thought. "We must be upwind of the waffle mill." After unpacking at the hotel the Joneses set out for one of the nearby mills.
It was late Sunday morning and no one answered the bell on the waffle mills front gate. "They must be at Church", said Jimmy. Jenny Jones began to cry yet again. Papa could take no more. He found a hole in the fence. "We'll just walk around back and take a look at some of the waffles." If it looks fun and we want to buy some souvenirs we can come back this afternoon." The smell had not subsided. This marked the last moment of their lives that the Joneses would ever shop for waffles at a store.
As the Joneses rounded the corner they could not believe their eyes. Waffles were crammed into wire basket waiting to be shipped to stores. They had no protection from the sun or flies. Many were dehydrated and sagging in the heat. Stunned, the family followed the unpleasant odor. In a large hot building they found where the waffles were created. Eggs were stacked the ceiling. Many of the eggs had cracks. Flour bags covered in filth leaned against the wall. Some had maggots festering in open holes. Calcium depleted egg shells and baking soda that was no longer useable had been haphazardly tossed out back, until they could be disposed of.
It became horrifically obvious that many of the other badly cracked and damaged old eggs were still to be used even though they lay drying up on the bottom of the rusty storage shelves. Batter oozed to the floor. All of the stomachs of all of the Jones began to churn. They collapsed in the grass sobbing. How could this happen? How could people ever buy store bought waffles when this is where they came from? Why did government let this deplorable situation continue?
Saddened and distraught the Joneses left for home immediately. How could anyone stay in Baconville knowing what was happening here? Why did the people who lived in the town do nothing to stop the mills? After arriving home Mama Jones immediately contacted the Breakfast Society of the United States to report what they had found. The BSUS sent the family some education information. The Jones learned that most waffle mills were actually like the one they had visited in South Dakota. The grotesque nature of the hellish facility was not the exception, but the rule.
The Joneses also learned that every year in America over 5 million waffles and pancakes are sent to shelters, housed and destroyed at tax payer's expense. Yes, even people who don't like waffles pay for the negligent over-production perpetrated by operators of these waffle mills. "Why do they make more waffles and even pancakes than people can use?" asked little Jimmy Jones. It makes me sad to think of them all going to waste" "I don't know", said Mama. She also could not imagine why the world would knowingly manufacture so much more of any product than it could ever use. It seemed so senseless.
Yes indeed, the Jones Family learned a lot from their family's summer vacation. You can too. Reread this story. Only this time where ever you see the word 'waffle' replace it with the word puppy. Pancakes are cats and the ingredients are adult breeding animals locked away for life in squalled conditions. You can decide for yourself what 'batter' is.
People must no longer see mere products when acquiring pets. We wrote the recipe. Mankind created domesticated companion animal to be what they are - beating hearts and loving souls who long to run, play, be petted and loved. The recipe is perfect. The cooks - not so much! Consumers and government would never let simple baked goods be produced in such a place as was described above, so here is your food for thought. How could we let this happen to our pets? Don't they deserve higher standards of care than waffles? Bon Appetite!
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