A popular slogan around Madison's farmer's markets (and probably elsewhere) is "Buy Local Everything."
It's an effective slogan, and it crossed my mind last evening as I drove past the tiny, one-afternoon-a-week farmer's market in my little town outside of Madison. Knowing I had no cash on me, I swung through the ATM lane at the local credit union and withdrew forty dollars, assuming that would get me some fresh vegies, maybe some raspberries, and still leave me with some walking-around money. I drove back to the market (only a few blocks), found my green bags stashed in the backseat, and started wandering past the vendors' tables.
It was late, almost 6 o'clock, so there were only a few vendors still selling. It's also a little early in the season. The market swells in size throughout July and August. Early on, there are more sellers of flowers, plants, and baked goods. I don't need any of those.
I pass by the honey stand. (I have two big bottles of honey in the pantry already.) I pass the one stand that still had some vegetables. I'm not a fan of kohlrabi, mostly because I don't know what to do with it. No tomatoes. No cucumbers. Not even any leaf lettuce. I must have been really late to the market. I have lettuce in my garden, anyway, and spinach and beets. I don't buy any vegetables.
I stop to talk to the farmer selling frozen meat from a big, portable freezer. Beef, pork, chicken, pheasant, and all kinds of sausages. I wasn't planning on buying meat, but my green bag is still empty. He hands me a flyer that includes a price list. He and his family run a farm that raises the animals without using hormones or antibiotics. "Cows are on pasture; pigs out in the open air and sunshine, and chickens are free range."
Well, as any ethical eater can tell you, free range isn't free. This farmer's frozen whole chickens cost $3.95 per pound. That's about twenty bucks per chicken. I buy one. There goes half my money.
The next booth has strawberries. Not the mutant California strawberries that are the size of apples and taste like wax - little Wisconsin strawberries that taste like...strawberries. No raspberries tonight, I guess. I buy a quart of strawberries for $4.00.
"How about some nuts to go with those strawberries?" asks the man at the next table. He and his wife are selling 5-ounce baggies of black walnuts and hickory nuts. They aren't the typical farmer's market sellers. They seem to be retired folks. Maybe they have a lot of hickories and walnuts on their property, so they spend the winter shelling them and then sell them in the spring and summer.
"Ok," I answer. "I'll take some hickories." There goes another five dollars.
I'm done shopping. For twenty-nine dollars, I have a 5-pound chicken, a quart of berries, and 5 ounces of nuts.
When I get home, I make sure to tell my wife how much the chicken cost me. "We can't let any of this go to waste," I say, mostly to remind myself. And it's true. When you spend a little more, when you meet the people who grow the berries, raise the animals, and shell the nuts, you feel some responsibility. I know I can't afford to eat local unless I treat the food as valuable. I usually throw out chicken giblets, but if I find they're in there after I thaw the bird, I will find a use for them. Even if I cook them and use some as treats for my dog, I will not just throw them away. Same with the skin.
I had a bowl of cereal for a snack last evening. I probably paid at least four dollars for the box of Rice Chex. Sadly, I can't tell you the exact price. I just buy them because I like them. The farmers who grew the rice probably made only a few pennies from that sale. I topped the Chex with fresh strawberries, some hickory nuts, and soy milk. Damn, that was one awesome snack, and the people who sold me the berries and nuts got a total of nine dollars. Most of those dollars will be spent within a few miles of my house.
I can't buy everything local, and I hope the slogan doesn't create an impossible expectation for people. I do my best. I know I can do more.
A little advice I would give to other people like me who are making the transition: When buying local foods, you get what you get. You get what's in season. If you show up late, you get what's left. It's all OK. Do your best. Every dollar you give to a local farmer or merchant will likely be spent again in your own community.
I am also seeking advice from more-seasoned locavores: What the hell can you do with a kohlrabi?