What does “just-right” organic look like?

Yesterday I suspended my Full Circle Farm orders.  Full Circle Farm is an organic farm and produce delivery service, and for a long time I’ve been a big supporter of its business model.  FCF began as a traditional CSA, but it has morphed into hybrid model that bills itself as a “farmers’ market in a box.”

Here’s what I’ve liked about FCF:

• Most of the produce has been exceptionally delicious
• I get a wide variety of produce
• I like supporting a business that supplies quality organic produce to places like Nome and Kotzebue
• FCF’s swap-out options allow me to work around my partner’s allergy to lettuce
• Anything that keeps me out of the big box stores is good for my budget, and fits my shopping goals
• FCF’s customer service has been excellent; anytime I’ve had trouble with an item, I get a refund, or an extra item in the next delivery

That’s a lot to like.  I thought about using our “local” CSA box option, Glacier Valley Farm, but they don’t offer FCF’s flexibility, and almost every box content listing I’ve seen includes lettuce.  Also, during the long Alaskan 0ff-season, the produce is significantly less local.

There are people out there who don’t like Full Circle Farm because they think it’s too much like “Big Organic” (where sheer size begins to look a whole lot like conventional agriculture).   That’s not my problem.  I’m not a purist.  I believe in making the best choice for my partner and me, among the options available.

So why did I quit FCF?  Because I got tired of the one or two disappointments in every box.  First there was the aphid infestation in the cauliflower.  Then the sweet corn that was not sweet; picked while the kernels were immature, it tasted like field corn.  One whole batch of green beans tasted like twigs. Several times the avocados have gone from rock-hard to rotten without stopping at ripe.

The box of FCF fruits and veggies is expensive.  It bothers me to have to throw away something a farmer worked hard to produce, and we worked hard to purchase.

I also find that I miss the process of carefully selecting produce.  At a real farmers’ market–as opposed to a farmers’ market in a box–I would have a chance to smell the peaches, feel the plump firmness of the ears of corn, inspect the tomatoes for bruises.  Even at the grocery store I can approximate that process, even though the quality doesn’t measure up to what’s available at most farmers’ markets.

I don’t know what “just right” organic looks like.  So far, for me, it’s been a constant process of adjustment.  FCF for a while.  Arctic Organics CSA for two summers.  Then FCF again.

Now it’s a new season in my hunting and gathering.  I’ll have to push myself to look for more variety in the grocery store, and try to pay attention to which stores have the best quality produce.  Maybe I’ll start shopping more frequently at smaller stores like Natural Pantry and New Sagaya/City Market.

And that will have to be good enough, for now.

A Comment on “The Entrepreneurial Spirit”

UU Minister Amy Zucker Morgenstern wrote this lovely post today about low-key entrepreneurs in Mexico:  The entrepreneurial spirit « Sermons in Stones.

I wanted to reply to her post, but she and her comments section are on sabbatical, so this short post is my comment!

In her post she wrote about prohibitive regulation in California keeping micro-businesses from being feasible.   Here I want to share the good news from Michigan:  Gov. Granholm just signed legislation ensuring that “cottage food operations” with gross annual sales of less than $15,000 will be exempt from many of the state’s regulatory barriers.

Taming the Alaskan Wilderness

Before we closed on our condo late last spring, I contacted the woman who runs the Girdwood Community Garden.  How do I get a plot? Can I help get the garden ready for spring?  Would you like donations of things like hoses and tools and lawn mowers?

And then Murphy’s Law kicked in with a vengeance.  Everything that could go wrong did go wrong.  It was October before we were living in Girdwood full-time, and I didn’t get a community garden plot last summer.

This winter I was determined.  I asked for a gift certificate from Seeds of Change.  I ordered seeds, hand tools, row markers.  I got a bright orange five gallon bucket from Home Depot, and a Fiskars bucket caddy.  I checked in with the garden coordinator on a regular basis.  I was ready to go.

In mid-May, I looked out the window of the Girdwood Community Chapel and saw the community garden.  Tucked in among the trees, it did not match my imagination’s picture of sunny abundance.

When I finally got my plot, I was quite discouraged.  Filled with devil’s club, horsetail, ferns, and other weeds I didn’t recognize, my very uneven plot was on the shady end of the garden.

But I had seeds.  And tools.  And row markers.

So I dug in.  Literally.  One of my new tools was a handy-dandy weeder that made an excellent scythe.  Made in Japan, it’s called a Negiri Gama hoe.

There were two stumps in my plot.  One was small and near the edge.  The other I dug and cut until it released its death grip on the glacial clay; I took it home as a trophy, and it’s still living on the balcony.

As I was working to level the plot, the earth gave me a gift:  a softball-sized chunk of granite-studded quartz.

Day after day I worked, digging stumps, pulling out rocks, creating a semblance of levelness.  Finally it was ready for weed barrier–and soil.  I dragged one wheelbarrow full of dirt down the uneven, stump-filled path before enlisting some help.  It’s amazing how much faster a bed fills with five people working on it, rather than just one.

Somewhere in this adventure I discovered that I’m more attached to this raised bed that I built from the ground up than I would have been had my plot been move-in ready.  My fifty square feet of “tamed” Alaskan wilderness is as quirky as I am, and I like it that way.

Local Eggs from Tranquility Heights

One of my goals on 43 Things is “Buy local eggs.” When Brady, our Australian Cattle Dog, was taking regular herding lessons in Wasilla, we had a source of flavorful, farm-fresh eggs.  Every Saturday morning I loaded Brady, myself, and our “empties” in the car, and several hours later I arrived back home with a tired pup, an exhausted me, and a few dozen eggs.

The local egg-producer in Girdwood is very small-scale, and doesn’t produce enough eggs to supply my fridge regularly.

On my last trip to Natural Pantry, I decided to explore the sign that said, “Local Eggs.”  My investigation led me to what was, hands down, the most beautiful egg carton I’ve ever seen.

The eggs are from the Tranquility Heights Farm in Palmer, from chickens raised by a member of the “Wolverine Farm” family.  I know it’s irrational, but just holding the carton made me feel more tranquil.

The locavore movement often brings together people with wildly disparate world views.  In this case, a non-theistic, gay Unitarian bought eggs from a farm whose blog shouts, “Four Generations Growing Food for God’s Glory.”

At the height of the culture wars, everyone thought that boycotts were the solution.  Spot a homophobe?  Boycott their business.  Disney perceived as gay-friendly?  If you’re a Christian, you won’t go to Disneyland.

Now something has shifted.  Both sides are shifting from a separatist stance to one of engagement.  Instead of boycotts, left and right are beginning to use strategies such as conversation and relationship.

I’m not sure how this shift began.  In my case, having a neutral issue (sustainable food) that both left and right care about has encouraged my transition from confrontation to conversation.  I’m pretty sure I could have a rip-roaring argument with the farmer who sells pork at the Anchorage Farmers’ Market.  But I want to buy a half-hog from him, so I practice restraint about our differences, and connect with him on common ground.

One of the rallying cries of the locavore movement is, “Know your farmer.” I will probably keep looking for a reliable source of local eggs, but not because the farmer at Tranquility Heights has a different perspective.  I have questions for her.  I want to know how she raises her chickens, and what she thinks about organic feed, and what breed of chickens she raises.  I want to know her, and be known by her.  I want us to learn to trust each other, and we can’t do that as long as our relationship is mediated by the refrigerated section at Natural Pantry.

Treasures in Unlikely Places

Flint is the New Jersey of Michigan.  Well, without all the rich people, pharmaceutical companies and beachfront.  Other than that, just like Jersey.

Most people experience my home state through the lens of the Newark Airport or the Jersey Turnpike.  Its starring role in HBO’s Sopranos didn’t do much to change those gritty perceptions.  Unless you’ve lived there, you’re likely to think that “the Garden State” is a misnomer.  Jersey natives, however, know that sunny June days are for strawberries, hot July days are for blueberries in the Pine Barrens, even hotter days in August are for peaches, and finally, the cooler days of September are for the apple orchards in NJ’s northwest corner.  All summer long, of course, it’s time for ripe, juicy Jersey tomatoes.

Mention Flint, and the response of most Michiganders is something like, “Can anything good come out of Flint?”  If Michigan is one of the epicenters of the current recession, then Flint is an epicenter of an epicenter.  Flint began to rust while the rest of the state was still flourishing.

So when we were visiting family in Michigan last week, and I mentioned that I wanted to visit the Flint Farmers’ Market, they were surprised, to say the least.  My partner’s sister agreed to come with me, so I printed directions and we ventured out.

Getting there was easy–highway 475 to exit 8A.  There were great signs directing us, though following them meant crossing three lanes quickly.  We could tell even before we parked that coming had been a great decision.

The Flint Farmers’ Market is big.  Not quite Pike Place, but definitely leaning in that direction.  Open year round, it has indoor space for permanent vendors, and outside space for seasonal ones.

There’s a butcher shop, and several vendors selling poultry.

The cheese shop made me want to hand them a twenty-dollar bill and ask for a smidgen of everything.

Of course, I bought the farm-fresh, free-range eggs–but not the cute bantams shown here.  The five of us ate the full dozen for dinner that night.

We both liked these raised beds–particularly the trapezoids, which could be arranged in any pattern.  And yes, I had to look up the name of the shape.

The wine store that anchors one end of the indoor market was a big hit with my traveling companion, who took this photo to remember to track it down closer to home.

Everyone we met at the market was exceptionally friendly.  The vendors were more than happy to answer our questions.  My partner’s sister is a graphic designer for a small, family-owned grocery chain, and she made several connections, both for her freelance work and on behalf of her employers.

If you live in Michigan, the Flint Farmers’ Market is a great day trip.  We spent a few hours, but easily could have spent three times as long there.   They’re open Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays.  If you’re elsewhere, I hope you’ll find time to visit a farmers’ market near you.  How many other opportunities come your way to have fun–and do something good at the same time?