The season in my stomach

Hi everyone!
There is no new Local Food Report this week—it's a repeat, the one from last year on Gray's Grist Mill in on the Massachussetts/Rhode Island border. Alex and I have been out of town, but we're finally back and settling into laundry and work catch-up and a fresh batch of granola and warming up the fire to fend off the rain. I'll be back Monday with a recipe.

In the meantime, I had to share this essay from 4th grader Zoe Popovic from Westbrook, Maine. My godmother saw it and emailed it along, and it totally made my day.

Excerpted from this article: "Soup to Nuts: Eat, write, say" by Meredith Goad, published in the Portland Press Herald on March 16th, 2011.

by Zoe Popovic, Grade 4, Congin School, Westbrook

I usually bring my own lunch to school. Sometimes the kids that buy lunch tease me. It used to bother me, but it doesn't anymore. I know where my food comes from. I have seen it in the fields; I've dug my own potatoes. My food is always changing. I can tell the season by what is in my lunch box. Starting the year with the summer harvest and the green taste of basil on my juicy tomato and mozzarella sandwich. Before I know it I have a thermos filled with butternut squash ravioli and sweet apples just picked over the weekend. In winter the staples from our farm share—rice and beans. I know summer vacation is on its way when my lunch turns green again with veggie wraps filled with baby greens. I also see yogurt mixed with the preserves from last summer's days spent picking blueberries and I know that soon I will be back in those fields. I have been a member of a CSA for as long as I can remember, whether getting a box from the farm or visiting. I know my farmers Amy and Tom, and I know the farm. When I eat my lunch I can picture where it came from. I see the path through the fields of flowers down to vegetables. I know where to turn off to cool myself in the river. I imagine the games that I played with the other kids between courses at the potlucks. I think of the chickens running around and being ridiculous. I picture the sunflowers by the barn and remember waiting for them to have plump seeds for picking. If someone has something to say about my lunch that's okay. It doesn't bother me. I know where my food comes from and don't think they can say the same. When the bell for recess rings, I offer to share a carrot and they take it with a smile and we run outside.


Anonymous said...

How awesome! Kudos to Zoe, who is quite the accomplished writer. Well done, Zoe! And thanks to you, Elspeth, for sharing it with us. ~Liz P.

Alison said...

Oh my! That made me a little misty. I wish more kids could say that.

Last night I had a dream about carrots--short fat ones. But, alas, ours are not quite ready to harvest. I did, however, just pick the peas. Ah, California.

The Table of Promise said...

This is positively fantastic. As a mother of two babies I love that she says that she has been a member of a CSA for as long as she konws. My first born was only 8 months when we joined our CSA, and I voluntered with number two in the baby carrier a few years later. Embracing local food has been such a meaningful experience for me. I like to think it will be for my kids too.
Thanks for sharing.

Jess said...

So eloquently written!

Elspeth said...

It truly is an amazing essay, isn't it? Table of Promise, I hope my kids will say the same thing one day. We aren't part of a CSA—the only one around is too far to drive, besides which I feel like I'm better off buying from and talking to all the farmers for work—but we can name the origin of just about everything on our plates.

Alison, peas!? We are officially jealous.

All the best,

Laurie said...

How wonderful! Zoe's words, and your sharing it. Thanks!

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