For most of my life, I treated my purchase of food as just a simple financial transaction. I would take my hard-earned dollars, and exchange them for food. This was basic commerce between me and the supermarket - in some ways our interests were aligned (our mutual objectives were met if I spent my money and received desired food in return), and in some ways our interests diverged (I wanted to capture the biggest bang for my buck, and therefore I might shop around or only buy things on sale). I didn't care about the well-being of the supermarket, and or where the heck the broccoli / apples / whatever foodstuff was grown or produced. If the broccoli looked fresh and the right price, I would buy it. And if it wasn't, I might try somewhere down the street. It was just business.
My perspective started to change when I started shopping regularly at the Mountain View farmers' market several years ago. I started to see the same people every week - Paul from Super Sweet hawking stone fruit in the summer and citrus in the winter, and the hipsters from Happy Boy Farm with their funny and informative labels on winter squash and summer melons spurring me to buy things I had never even heard of before. I would ask Jim from Pampero Ranch about grass-fed beef and different cuts of meat, and we might swap stories about our young toddlers. Paul from Hain Ranch would tell me about why everyone should learn to butcher a chicken, and then get into the history of his 4th generation farm and how his son might come back to the land after working in high-tech in LA. I would always be sad at the end of summer when my friends at Kashiwase Farms would bring the last of their organic peaches, nectarines and plums for the season. I would be grateful when Sylvia from Prevedelli Farms would save me some of my favorite organic warren pears when I got to the market late. And I eventually made it out to TLC Ranch near Watsonville, so my daughter Kaiya could run around with the pasture-raised piglets and walk among the free-range chickens.
When I could talk to Rebecca or Paul or Jim, it was easy to see and be more conscious of the fact that someone was actually growing the food that I was buying. Someone plants the seeds, cares for the orchards, and raises the animals with care. And in the case of the farmers' market, someone gets up way before dawn on Sunday mornings, rain or shine, to drive a couple hours and bring me the apples/carrots/pork chops that I eat every week. This isn't just a simple transaction of money and food, it's a relationship with people based on trust, respect, shared values and mutual dependence. I trust and rely on these hard-working farmers to provide me with the healthy, delicious, sustainable food that our family consumes every week, and they rely on me and other loyal customers to come back every week to buy the food they produce.
And this is what dawned on me - I have always had a relationship with the food that I eat, and the people who grow it. When I was shopping at Safeway, this relationship was like with a stranger I passed on the street that I didn't notice or pay attention to - anonymous, distant, non-existent. I didn't give a second thought to who or what was on the other end of this transaction - the farmer who produced the food, how or where the food was grown, whether it was someone that shared my values or that I could trust to grow the food that would feed my children. Whereas at the farmers' market, this relationship feels like that of a good friend or neighbor - full, deep, gratifying. I can look people in the eye, ask questions, have them know my name and my family, visit their farm, and have an actual relationship.
And this is what hit me the hardest - just like any relationship, there is a trust and expectation (in a good way) that we will each do our part to care for each other and hold up our end of the bargain. And when I have this relationship with the food that I eat (and the people who grow it), going to the market is not just “shopping” – it’s about seeing old friends, being neighborly and taking care of important people in my life. It matters if I decide to walk over to the market on Sunday morning – and it has an impact if I decide I’m a no-show because I’m too lazy or because it’s too cold or rainy. I wouldn’t bail on a friend that’s counting on me – and now I realize that I have a relationship with the food I eat, I’m going to treat it with the respect that it deserves.
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