A Farmer's Market State of Mind

The mental gymnastics of valuing locally grown foods

Freshly planted strawberries. (Don’t mind the dead plants in the background. 😬 A victim of our winter ice storm, they’re on the list to replace this spring!)

A few weeks ago a friend and I were shopping for flower baskets at the nursery and I felt compelled to buy some strawberry plants too. As I started to load them onto our cart, she beckoned to the ones I had chosen, partially blossoming from bud to white flower—“you don’t want the flowers!”

I was confused for a second, because the flowers meant this strawberry plant was well on its way, but then it dawned on me—she didn’t know that the strawberries grow from the flowers themselves. 

I simply told her, that’s where strawberries come from! “Oh,” she replied. And that was that.

Initially I was pretty shocked at her naivety. But thinking back, was this knowledge I took for granted? How did I acquire it in the first place?

I searched back in my memory. I don’t recall ever learning such a thing in school. Rather, it was a combination of my parents taking us to a strawberry patch to pick them ourselves when I was in high school, and my dad later growing his own in our yard. What really sealed the deal was seeing them grow day by day in my own front yard years later (“yard” being a little L-shaped patch of soil by my front stoop).

Of course, it makes perfect sense that you wouldn’t know how a plant grows if you’ve never seen it yourself. Especially if you’re buying all your produce from a grocery conglomerate and never set foot on any kind of farm. 

And who’s to blame for that, if gardening is never taught in school and supermarkets are the primary nature of America's food economy?

I find that the more I'm exposed to the true root (literally) of our food, the more I appreciate it. I mentioned this in this post a few weeks ago, having been inspired by Barbara Kingsolver’s book Animal, Vegetable, Miracle.

The main driver for her family’s decision to eat entirely local food for a year was avoiding the fuel and carbon emissions required in transporting all the food one typically buys at a grocery store. 

Admittedly, I hadn't considered the fuel implications myself. The narrative I constantly hear is regarding the carbon footprint needed for meat consumption. But no one is talking about the transportation costs of our food system as a whole!

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What originally drew me to local food was the ideal of supporting local business owners, because I value putting my dollar back into my community. I also appreciate knowing the source of my food so that I can opt for healthier, higher quality options when possible.

It’s why I chose to start purchasing a CSA share two summers ago.

Years before that, I remember being on a second or third date with someone trying to justify my curiosity about CSAs, or community supported agriculture. At the time I had yet to try one, but it was something I’d been wanting to do. As I explained how they work—you pay a lump sum up front for 12-24 weeks’ worth of freshly harvested produce—he laughed and quickly dismissed the concept as futures¹ disguised with clever marketing.

While he was technically right, I remember feeling infuriated that he wouldn’t listen with an open mind and frustrated that I couldn’t seem to “prove myself.” (I’m cringing as I write that—it should be no surprise that there was no follow up date.)

Despite my self-assuredness on my food values, I struggle with how to talk about this passion of mine with people who seemingly don’t get it. You see, I’m afraid of judgment. The overwhelming belief is that it’s an expensive privilege to buy local foods, and therefore I fear it will come across as uppity if I were to talk about it.

Kingsolver argues in her book that that is in fact a myth, and it costs roughly the same (sometimes less) if you eat locally and in season. One of the proof points of her argument is that most farmer’s markets offer purchase options via food stamps, allowing the less privileged to have equitable access.

She also points out that here in the US, we spend the lowest proportion of our income on food than any other country in the world. While the proportion tends to decrease the wealthier the country, this doesn’t necessarily mean that our food is cheaper (it depends). In digging up the original data source, there’s a lot of nuance that remains to be seen, i.e. what foods are people buying?

Regardless, this data also suggests that Americans don’t place as high of a value on food, instead opting to spend our discretionary dollar on entertainment, recreation, travel, etc., or on other necessities like healthcare. But would we spend less on healthcare if we spent more on what we feed our bodies? 

Don’t get me wrong, I'm guilty of the cheapest-price-wins mentality myself. It’s easy to feel guilty for spending more on food when I know I could spend so much less. And when the majority around me are following that ethos too. The amount of Costco talk on the internet alone illustrates the food culture we live in.

Yesterday my boyfriend and I visited our first farmer’s market of the season. As we sat there drinking our cold brews and sharing a lemon poppyseed scone, we asked ourselves, What would it look like to eat entirely from the farmer’s market in a week? Would it really be that much more expensive?

My guess is that it’s probably closer to break even than I’d suspect, especially because we’re accustomed to shopping at a local and organic-forward grocery store already. (We actually saved $1 on the asparagus at the market versus what New Seasons was selling.)

I think Kingsolver put this food value equation best: “To farm sustainably and also stay in business, these market gardeners have to bridge the psychological gap between what consumers could pay, and what we will actually shell out.”²

A sampling of last summer’s CSA share.

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An idea I had recently is to host a seasonal dinner party. For one thing, I’ve been wanting to host more friends and family, having not done much of it but always intending to do more. Secondly, what better way to introduce loved ones to seasonal produce than by cooking it for them myself, farm to table?

I think that is one of the greatest acts of love someone can give. One of the most memorable meals I’ve ever had is one my dear Aunt Michelle cooked for my brother and me, with all the ingredients freshly picked from her vegetable patch out front. In all honesty, I can’t remember what we ate, but I will never forget how thoroughly nourished I felt.³

While I don’t have a vegetable farm of my own, I think the closest I’ve come to replicating this is cooking dinner for my partner’s family last summer, mostly using produce from that week’s CSA share. It was so rewarding for me to be able to incorporate so many veggies in a single meal and to tell them where the ingredients came from.

I started this essay with an anecdote about my dear friend not knowing how a strawberry grows. I can’t begin to pretend that I know how every vegetable and fruit I put in my mouth grows, nor do I know the origin of every single thing I’m eating. I have acquired more knowledge over the years, but I certainly don’t know it all.

What I do know, however, is that I’m hungry for more.

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1. As Charles Schwab defines it: “Futures are a type of derivative contract agreement to buy or sell a specific commodity asset or security at a set future date for a set price.”

2. Barbara Kingsolver, Camille Kingsolver, and Steven L. Hop, Animal, Vegetable, Miracle: A Year of Food Life (HarperCollins, 2007), 115

3. It’s hard to think about farming and seasonal produce without thinking of my dear Aunt Michelle. She sadly passed away a year and half ago, and I can’t tell you how many times I wanted to text her while reading Kingsolver’s book. I’d be remiss not to credit her as a formative influence on my food values. 💚