Yesterday I dashed out to pick up some peaches from the local farmer’s market—very local indeed, in that it has set up shop 5 blocks away—and was nonplussed to find the street swarming with cars, hardly anyplace to park. Aha! It turned out that it was the day for CSA (community supported agriculture), and the folks were lining up for their monthly boxes of produce. Not something I have ever gone in for, knowing full well that the delightful peaches and blackberries of summer must give way to brimming boxes of turnips and rutabaga in the fall. But however, there were the good citizens of Bethesda, swarming about picking up their boxes. The prospect of turnips does not perturb them, apparently.
Walking through such crowds of fruit buying folk imparts an agreeable—but alas, false—image of healthy eating in the country ; only some 30% of Americans eat fresh produce twice a day, and the number is dropping. Which is to not say that 70% of Americans eat nothing but burgers and fries all day, but simply that peaches and blackberries, say, are not a usual feature on their tables.
These same fruits are a particular favorite of mine, however, and I hastened to fill my basket. While in the process, I was joined by other enthusiasts—it appears that catbirds and robins are also VERY fond of fruit—and find the luscious display at the stand quite irresistible. The maidens working the cash register were quite resigned to the thieving birds, and I couldn’t help but fine them ridiculously charming—impatiently waiting for me to move on so that they could steal another taste. Though I would rather not find a mauled berry in my basket, it was hard to resent the bright eyed greedy little gourmets.
Hope
“What wondrous life is this I lead!
Ripe apples drop about my head ;
The luscious clusters of the vine
Upon my mouth do crush their wine ;
The nectarine and curious peach
Into my hands themselves do reach ;
Stumbling on melons as I pass,
Insnared with flowers, I fall on grass.”
From The Garden, by Andrew Marvell
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