In which Going Green Mama ponders the meaning of "local."
Last night, on a whim, we did what my little boy has been begging to do: Stop at a farm stand that was once routine for us, but had died off once they made the business decision to stop accepting checks. (I just don't carry cash except on market days.)
With the last of my garage sale dollars burning a hole in my pocket, we pulled up the dusty driveway, expecting the usual corn and cantelope that the markets have this time of year. I was surprised.
What had once been a few varieties of seasonal produce had blossomed into jars of jams, fresh and refrigerated produce, varieties of pre-packaged treats. And peaches. My mouth watered.
Then I saw the sign: The peaches were from South Carolina. And I live in the great state of Indiana.
Something about that didn't seem right to me. I am perfectly fine with buying extra-regional American produce at the grocery store, but when it presents itself at the local farm stand a few miles down the road, it seems out of place. Granted, I realize farmers may need to create their own networks to survive in this crazy summer and economy, but isn't there an unsaid promise that when I buy from Joe's farm stand that the food might actually come from somewhere remotely close to Joe's?
What do you think?
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