Consuming a LIttle Less Passively

“Passive consumers no longer know those who grow their food, or even how or where it was grown. When...our understanding of the source of our food is limited to ‘it comes from the supermarket,’ we do not know its geographical derivation or remember its ultimate dependence upon the fertility of the soil. Thus, we cannot know how healthful such food is for us, for the land, or for those who grew it.” (Michael Schut, Food & Faith: Justice, joy and daily bread, Denver: Living the Good News Press, p. 17.

We first learned about CSA’s by reading Barbara Kingsolver’s Animal, Vegetable, Miracle shortly after it was published a year or so ago. Subsequent internet searches revealed several such farms in the Des Moines area, but I quickly learned how difficult it can be to purchase a share. Every one of the Consumer Supported Agriculture farms I contacted had long-since been sold out. This year we started earlier – a quest underscored by our appreciation of the “slow food” initiatives in Vermont and elsewhere, and supported by our Vermont innkeepers and chef. Almost everything they serve is grown or raised within a several-mile radius, and we have admired the partnership enjoyed there between producers and preparers. On any given evening at dinner we are likely to be sitting next to the beef producer, or the mushroom farmer, or the cider house operators. Everyone seems to come out ahead – the chef who knows exactly what he’s cooking, the producers who know exactly where their products are going, and finally people like us who simply and delightedly consume the end result.

We were thrilled, then, this winter to learn that a share would indeed be available at the farm in which we were most interested. Certified organic, Turtle Farm makes available something like 160 shares to community partners who pay a set fee for the privilege of participating in weekly harvests mid-May through September. If the farmer has a good year, we get full boxes each week. If the harvest is thin, we share the pain.

Having attended the orientation session this spring, we eagerly awaited notification of the first box. Most apparently work out arrangements to pick up their boxes more proximate to their homes, so when I arrived at the farm that benchmark Friday afternoon, Angela, the owner, asked, “Where do you live that it’s convenient to come out to the farm, itself?”

“Oh,” I replied, “it’s not convenient. I live on the south side of Des Moines. I just enjoy the drive.” 25 miles of it, each way. Three weeks now into the process, I continue to enjoy it. I love turning off the highway onto the dirt road and easing up to the shed where the boxes are arranged. I enjoy visiting with Angela and Ben, her chief assistant. I value shaking the hands that sowed the seeds and cut the asparagus and dug the turnips. I warm at the sight of the rows reaching almost to where I’m standing that will give rise to several of my meals in the coming weeks. I enjoy asking questions and learning answers from the ones who know I have a vested interest in the information. And I love opening the box like a child at Christmas, eyes dancing on every leafy discovery.

This is food that doesn’t come on Styrofoam trays shrink-wrapped in cellophane. Unlike most of what I otherwise consume, I know exactly from whence this food comes, and the names of those whose ministrations have coaxed it out of the ground. And it’s good.