Farmer co-ops — they really are all the rage. My go-to farmer is Bubba, a 20-minute drive south of us. You could say we have a relationship.
During peak growing seasons, the back of my 10-yr-old minivan keeps a sharp knife, pitch fork, shovel, gumboots, a few plastic grocery bags, and a recycle bin lined with newsprint. I’m at the ready, you could say. But ready for what?
Ready for veggies.
But first, this photo needs no explanation.
Okay, so maybe iPads don’t take the best quality pictures. Back to it now. Here’s what I come away with each trip.
Oh yeah, be jealous.
Look at all that greeeeen!
Count the loot: (2) bags of swiss chard, (2) bags of curly leaf kale, (1) bag of parsley, (1) bag of romaine, (1) bag of collard greens, (1) bag of mustard greens, (2) bunches of beets with greens, (2) bunches of carrots with greens, and (3) heads of cauliflower.
Once my kids’ school teachers picked through for their share, I put up the rest (about 75% of it) for six hungry faces at home. They paid me a stipend ($1 per bag of whatever they wanted), very nearly making me money selling veggies from the back of my van.
I feel a bit naughty.
The trade-off for the inconvenience of driving to the farm rather than the corner grocery is that I get to pick my own beautiful, delicious, fresh organic veggies, spend some time in the sunshine, and enjoy a country drive with the windows down, my tunes cranked up, and no kids in the car — none of which I particularly mind doing.
Okay, let’s just call it what it is: a break from the chaos.
As if I need more to brag about, here’s a shot of next week’s haul on the floor of my kitchen. I didn’t share any this time– it all went into my own fridge. It’s okay to be selfish every once in a while, right?
He even offered to throw in the bag of satsumas for nothing, because he he’s trying to get his trees to flower, which they won’t do with fruit hanging on them. Free sweet, juicy, delicious satsumas. Darn the luck.
I’m totally convinced the quail poop he uses for fertilizer must be nuclear.
Here’s one I took of his cushaw squash of last year, no less impressive.
…and another of a different variety of squash from the same field. Both of these were in the dead heat of the summer (notice the cracked soil).
Bubba, whatever you’re doing, you’re doing it right. Thanks for taking care of my family and warming my heart. You know I’ll be back. For sure.
So what’s stopping you? Find a farm co-op near you.
Check with LocalHarvest.org to see if there’s a Bubba
in your neck of the woods.