This I Believe

Last night I ate a salad of radishes, field greens, and asparagus.  The ingredients never sat on a grocery store shelf. Less than 2 days ago they were still stuck in the ground.

I’m one of thousands of Americans who are supporting local farms as a member of a Community Supported Agriculture (CSA) program. In exchange for a membership in Tait Farm, I get a weekly “share” of freshly picked produce. Every Tuesday I load my kids into the car to collect my bounty. The hardworking, enthusiastic farmers greet me at the barn, armed with recipes for how to cook rhubarb and collard greens.

I believe in buying locally grown or produced food. In my opinion, the true definition of comfort food is when the people who grew the strawberries and spinach I’m feeding my kids are the same people who help me watch them while I load everything into the car. The employees at the grocery store may smile at my child, but they’ll never be able to vouch for the food that was grown hundreds or even thousands of miles away.

My passion for local food took root in New York City, where my backyard consisted of concrete and skyscrapers. One day on my way home from work I walked through a farmer’s market and watched people wait in line for 10 minutes for a freshly picked apple. I bought one myself and realized that the shiny, perfectly shaped fruit on the grocery store shelves were imposters. Before long I was buying as much produce as I could stick in a stroller without suffocating a two-year-old.

Now that I live in the middle of farm country I buy most of my food from my neighbors. I buy milk from Meyer Dairy, which is so fresh the bottles are devoid of expiration dates. I get my eggs from Over the Moon Farm. My beer comes from Otto’s. And my bread comes from Gemelli Bakery. Once, after I’d been on a gluten-free diet in an attempt to cure a sinus infection, I bought a loaf of freshly baked ciabatta for a dinner party, then pulled off the road into a random parking lot so I could devour it myself. Gemelli is the reason I’ll always have a stuffy nose.

My belief in locally produced food has grown into what I hope will become a new career. Together with some friends I started Homegrown Happy Valley, a non-profit Web site that provides our neighbors with news and trends related to local farms, restaurants, and retail shops. We aren’t purists. I couldn’t live without bananas–how else would my son get his one daily serving of fruits and vegetables?–and my friend has yet to find a local provider of fruit snacks.

My goal is simply to help the farms and businesses get a few more customers so they won’t close their doors. My dinner plate depends on it.