25/90, groceries

I went to the store yesterday and stood in the produce section for a long time. I looked at my cart. In summary, it was a $45 salad. (And a box of Late July cookies. Hello.)

I was on the phone with my mother. "I feel like I'm not buying any food. There's no food in my food."

She asked what I had for lunch. "A bag of trail mix." The good kind, with the chocolate-covered soy beans and M&M-ish candies and the craisins. "Half of a V8 strawberry-banana juice. Gross." I should have stuck with their Spicy Hot.

She expressed her concern. I was also concerned, because as I looked around in the florescent glow, I realized there wasn't a lot here I wanted to be eating.

I have read and researched more than my fair share of food science. I've been vegan, vegetarian, carnivorous and famished after a five-day fast to cleanse my liver. The shine from the apples hurts my eyes. The plastic wrap around the broccoli makes me wonder when it was cut and who shipped it. Pineapples are next to apples are next to raspberries are next to radishes. I wonder what about this is natural. What field did this come from? What sunlight made these grow--at the same time? Why do we need this?

I looked at my cart and was embarrassed. I slipped the prickly pear, the processed soy cheese, the hydroponic tomatoes back onto the shelves (granted, between loaves of bread and not with their comrades) and began looking at the homes of my food. Vermont. Mexico. Idaho. Vietnam.

I wanted to put it all back. I wanted to dig up the snow and the frozen earth and spread seed and wait for spring and then fall and then harvest. I want to know. I want to see the soil, to pull the weeds, to avoid chemicals, let rabbits eat some of the carrots and birds pick at some berries.

I want to eat like we've eaten for centuries, when we were hardy in a real way, when we earned it. Last summer, Joe and I cruised the Soulard farmers' market each Saturday. We sifted through the Dole and FreshCrisp to find the fruits of the Ozarks.

We balanced saving money on imported papaya and pineapple with finding the local zucchini and okra. We saved money, savoring the fruit at breakfast and stretching the vegetables in soups and stir-fry to make the produce last through the next Saturday. This summer, I'm heading home to Ohio.

The goal: to find Wapak's local goods, to work with my grandma in the garden she's had for as long as I can remember, to stain my fingernails with dirt and learn how to feed myself.