The next morning, I slowly headed up the hill. Som-o and a couple young boys were raking up leaves already and chatting away in Thai.

Som-o greeted me with an energetic "Good morning!"

At forty-five or so years old, he handled hangovers far better than I. My body groggily responded to my mind's wake up pleas this morning. Maybe I'd be able to stay up late and get up enthusiastically for chores by the end of this week too.

I took a rake and helped them group everything into piles, to burn and subsequently be used as part of fertilizer. We continued until breakfast was ready where I tried passion fruit for the first time. It had almost the same texture as cantaloupe.

After, as we painted the bamboo classroom to preserve its lifespan an extra five years, two more young boys joined the effort. I caught them staring at me often, but as soon as I turned to smile, wave or greet them, they would hide, run or laugh. As a foreigner, I was used to attracting attention, but I didn't usually scare children. Som-o assured me that they'd warm up to me and  we continued to chat about Thailand and Canada. I also learned that diesel could be used to supplement paint supply.

In the afternoon, we ventured down to the family farm. It was exciting to go beyond the Akha school/residence and the short drive to his brother's place in the dark. The farm lay at the bottom of the valley and stretched across three of four fields. A bit of infrastructure like a mud hut, a bamboo covered rest area and a few tool sheds sat on a raised hill area. We spent the afternoon clearing weeds off the gravel paths in the hot sun. Over the next few days, we planned to mix up the bags of cement and sand to pave these little paths.

The boys warmed up to me as we worked and I even got frequent surprise hugs from one. They started to speak to me in Thai often and burst out laughing when 90 percent of my answers were 'Mai Khao Jai', indicating that I didn't understand. It wasn't long before the imitations began and I could just laugh. They were little goofballs, much like half of my students.

After our tasks, I got to see the collection of piglets who lived in a sty near the fish pond. Twenty or so black piglets squealed and ran as soon as people came near. There was also one adorable brown haired piglet. They ventured closer when I remained completely still so I could sneak pictures.

The boys who were helping out on the farm tried to literally drag me into the fish pond for a swim with them. The teenage son was watching and laughing, while offering no help. I shook my head, while also laughing, and told them that it was their turn to swim not mine.

Eventually once they gave up on their attempts, I was a boring adult and watched from the side as they jumped in to fight the summer heat. Other than the mud coloured water, it was a great swimming venue: mountains on all sides, bright green fields stretching and napping piglets under a bamboo structure. I didn't want to drench my clothes, and I was not comfortable being in less than that around all these kids. Being foreign already drew enough attention; I didn’t need to a scandalous one at that. I saved that for crazy nights when I partied on Thai islands.

A few minutes after a loud shot sounded off in the distance, Som-o came out of the forest with a bird flipped upside-down. With the bird, he decided it was suppertime and most of us crammed in the truck box for the ride back up the mountain. Only Som-o's son and Nueng rode on the motorbike.

Before the young boys left for their homes, Som-o gave each one some money for helping out on the farm. He had also made sure they were fed and given water all day. I admired the way Som-o ran this organization. Not only did the boys get skills like painting and building under his influence, they were rewarded for their hard work. The way they had coming running into the yard yesterday when we arrived indicated just how highly esteemed he was in their eyes.

It was one of the boy's last day in the village. His father didn't have the money to support his son and drinking habit, so the following day he would be sent to the monastery to become a monk. The community, offering donations to the temples, would help take care of him and his education. While I was never aware of any social system in place during my stay, I assumed that a lot of the care for these children who would go to the state in other countries, ended up much like this boy, going through monkhood.    

That night when we cooked supper, I learned how to crush coriander properly. I hadn't been removing the seeds the day before. As we prepped supper, a neighbour stopped by with wild buffalo skin to give us. Sharing was very much the custom around here as people stopped by to offer what they had harvested or killed that day, a true community. Despite their best intentions, the concept of buffalo skin didn't appeal to my taste buds.

“Sarah, come try. Buffalo skin is very good! Aroy mak!” Som-o said, indicating its deliciousness.

I watched him eat a piece and sigh in satisfaction. I knew it was a treat, that’s why he was offering it to me first, the guest. Not wanting to be rude, I had a piece. I chewed and chewed, not really enjoying the sensual experience somewhere between rubbery and fatty. I took a second piece to be polite, and to justify my lie that it was "dee", "good". Somehow I made it through it. That texture and the bird that I watched Som-o pluck convinced me to stick to the veggie dishes that night. Unfortunately, they were quite spicy, even after living in Thailand for eleven months. 

The next night, as I prepared the pumpkin, gutting it and saving the seeds, I could hear the cries of a chicken outside. The chickens lived in the fenced area outside with the cows. It was quite normal to hear them clucking and walking about with the dogs. That was not a normal chicken cry. That chicken forced every last bit of its air through its beak with the force a drowning victim would use to claw up towards the surface as they sank. These were the last seconds of its life. Moments later, a shot echoed outside and the cries ended abruptly.

Carried into the kitchen by its two legs and hanging limply, the chicken made its final entrance. Som-o's brother brought the bird to him. He looked at it as the meat that it was and began to pluck away the feathers, transforming it from animal to food.

They could call me a city girl all they wanted, but having that transition of animal to consumable product thrust in my face was the only thing I needed to decide that I didn't need to eat meat anymore. Well, that and the memory of the buffalo skin on my tongue. There had always been meats like beef that I hadn’t enjoyed eating either. I had never really liked ribs or meat with too many bones either.

Ethically, I embraced the idea of becoming a vegetarian earlier as a plant based diet reduced greenhouse gas emissions and land usage. I would have been a vegetarian in an instant, had chicken and bacon been considered vegetables. As Som-o and I took turns washing the hollowed pumpkins and the blood from the bird's body, that personal need for chicken was effectively severed. If I couldn’t eat free range chicken, which was the most ethical kind of meat out there, I really shouldn’t have been eating any at all.

I wasn't going into this vegetarian adventure blind. Teaching in Thailand exposed me to whole gang of vegetarians who I happily called friends. Throughout the year, they shared some of their logic, perks and tricks of the trade.

Jessica and Sam, the same couple from the moonshine adventures, didn’t eat many animal products because of all of the antibiotics in the meat would negatively impact their health as well as the deplorable living conditions for the animals, encouraging the spread of diseases. I saw their point, medicating these animals just so they could stand to live in such squalor caused the chemicals to build up in their system and it transferred to ours when we consumed them.

Despite their beliefs, they weren't overly fond of a diet labels, except to explain their diet in foreign countries, and would break the 'rules' at times. Jessica would, on occasion, buy deep fried frogs since they came from the ditches of our neighbourhood and not out of factories, or even try a small piece of a cultural meat dish. Their opinion was to eat mainly animal free with the occasional free range option to overall reduce their meat consumption.

Other friends were very pro-animal and couldn’t ethically eat them or use their products. This was the stance with which I was familiar. Christina, a world travelling, former vegan -- then vegetarian -- friend also shared how healthy she felt after cutting out meat, dairy and eggs. In the past, I couldn’t imagine how different you could really feel -- or what you would ever eat -- but after a year of struggling with food poisoning, I had a rough idea of what I didn't want to feel like.

The exposure to these three viewpoints planted the seeds for my decision that night the Northern Thai village.  Reducing my carbon footstep, avoiding extra chemicals, and feeling better (although I wasn't ready to take the vegan plunge, yet) appealed to me. So deep in that mountain village, I made myself a promise to stop eating meat.

I stuck to the vegetarian dishes if they were available. Otherwise, I just didn’t take the morsels of meat from any of the dishes. I figured the easiest way to survive the next month abroad was to avoid physical pieces of meat. Anything else would be a failed feat as I didn’t have the languages to pull it off.

It was quite awkward trying to eat after this because these people had seen me eat meat already. If I told them I didn’t want to anymore, they might get offended or most likely think I was a crazy foreigner, if they didn’t already.

They might have had a hint at my intentions the following day when they went to perform a female circumcision on a pig and I told them I was not at all interested in watching, despite their insistence. I played with the adorable dogs instead as I tried to block out the cries of the pig and avoid watching it wrangling in the burlap sack they used to bring it up the farm. I assumed they weren’t going to slaughter it as we weren’t near a kitchen and it seemed illogical to kill a piglet for meat. But I was too terrified I was wrong to go near the event.

The host’s wife made a few vegetarian dishes that night and pointed them out to me with an understanding smile. If there was a sliver of doubt about becoming a vegetarian before, it had certainly disappeared.