Spring Farmers Market

This is the first Moscow Renaissance Fair I have missed in a long, long time. This morning as I drank my cup of coffee I swore I could almost hear music from the main stage, see Tye Dye Everything t-shirts and dresses fluttering in the wind, smell Filipino food and sugary elephant ears, feel the muddy straw twisting under my shoes, watch the smiles of the community I know so well as they meandered by. I could almost hear Mom and Dad (elected King and Queen this year) laughing and joking, Dad deciding to put a down jacket and windstopper hat over his tunic, Mom's red converse (I hope!) peaking out of her long velvet dress.

But here I am in Missoula, Montana.

So to quell the tinges of homesickness I was feeling I  headed downtown to the first Missoula Farmer's Market of the season. Actually, correction: I headed down to the Clark Fork River Market AND the Missoula Farmer's Market. That's right, there are two. I'm not quite sure the reasoning or the politics behind it all (maybe just not enough space in one location?) but as far as I am concerned, two is even better than one.

I'm pretty sure I could have wandered in circles for hours, looking at the damp and fluffy lettuce, deep green spinach, brilliant yellow and red chard, speckled eggs, fragrant baked goods, hand-made crafts, and smiling faces...but three final essays waiting at home called me to get a move on. I bought a few leafy greens here, some swiss chard there, a bunch of rhubarb, some petite carrots, a dozen eggs from an adorable little girl who told me about her family's 40 chickens (and their pooping habits), and a scone for the trip home.

As I walked along Rattlesnake Creek, (breathing in that beautiful rushing water, riparian vegetation smell I love so much) I realized something. Going to the Farmers Market was the first time this semester I had bought food and felt truly good about it. I didn't have to battle traffic on Russell St to escape the Good Food Store parking lot. I didn't have to wonder if what I was buying was just an overpriced "organic!" gimmic. I got to see the faces of the people almost directly involved in growing the food. I carried my purchases home in a bag slung over my shoulder instead of the back of a station wagon. There were no flourecent lights, bar codes, or thick plastic packages.

Have I mentioned how thankful I am recently? Well, I will say it again. I have no idea how I got so lucky as to live in the thriving, vibrant communities of Missoula and Moscow.

 

Bread

I love the earthy smell of the yeast as it mixes with lukewarm water. I love watching the sponge change from water, yeast, honey and flour into a frothy, bubbling, bowl of life. I love working the gooey mess first with a wooden spoon and then with my hands. I love the way the dough transforms into a smooth, fragrant ball, simply because I knead it back and forth across the counter. I love the way flour dusts everything I am wearing. I love the way it makes me stay at home for an afternoon, instead of rushing off to here or there. I love the smell that consumes the kitchen as I pull the tray from the oven. Most of all, I love eating, eating, eating.

As many before have pointed out, creating bread is a type of meditation. I am hopeless at sitting still and thinking. Kneading bread gives my hands something to do while my mind wanders. My thoughts, as they usually do, started drifting towards Dad. He, Jasper and Mom called me from a sunny park in San Francisco this afternoon. Tonight Dad has an MRI, tomorrow morning a meeting with a neuro-oncologist. It feels strange to not be with them. I'm not sure I have ever missed a major family vacation, especially spring break (usually filled with mountain biking, skiing, or rafting). Yet I have class and tests this week, and in two weeks when I have my own spring break I'm heading up to an organic farm.

It sometimes feels like living a double life. On one side, I am your typical almost 19 year old college student. I go out and get drunk on St Patrick's Day when I really should be studying. I get angry at "the man", frustrated with the government, and complain about boring gen eds. I love the town I am going to school in and want to try everything and do everything I possibly can. I still believe I can change the world in some way, however small. I worry about boyfriends. I worry about friends in general. I'm trying to figure out what I want to do with my life and who I want to do it with.

On the other hand, I'm a daughter and a sister.  On the logical level, I know I am doing the right thing by being in college out of state and doing what I love. Yet I don't want to miss a moment of my family as four. A small part of me feels guilty and selfish for staying in Montana and having fun when I could be going home for the weekend and spending time with Dad. I am trying to create a new life in Missoula and sustain my normal family life in Moscow, and sometimes it is all just too much.

So I turn off the cell phone, log out of facebook, put on sweatpants, and bake bread. And you know what? It helps.

Goldfish & Good Food

Tonight my roommate and I made a trek to the Good Food Store (Missoula's version of a food co-op) to stock up on a week of groceries. I wandered through the bulk section, filling up containers brought from home with popcorn kernels, olive oil, and rice. I caught the eye of a cute male employee, thought "nice butt" then started to move on. And then I did a double take. He was ripping open a carton of parmesan goldfish crackers and pouring them into a bulk dispenser.


C'mon Good Food Store... really?


To begin with, I have a hard time believing goldfish crackers qualify as "good food". Yes, they are better for you than Cheetos or Doritos, but they are still owned by Campbells, produced industrially and covered in cheese powder. I could buy them at any grocery store in Missoula.


I'll admit it, I like the taste of goldfish crackers. I'm sure many other shoppers (and their children) do too. However, one of the big reasons I shop in bulk is to reduce the amount of packaging associated with my food. Tearing apart a carton only to use another package (often a plastic bag) to take the product home with me seems counterproductive. Why not just stock it and buy it in the carton to begin with?


Overall, I think the Good Food Store is great. In seasons when farmers markets and CSA's are nonexistent in Montana, it offers local, regional, and sustainably produced food. It is a relatively mainstream way for Montana consumers to move toward food consumption that is more connected to the farmers, healthier for the planet and healthier for their bodies.


However, just because the title says "Good Food" doesn't mean you can turn your brain off when you walk in the doors. It is important to ask yourself, "why am I willing to pay more for this food?" Maybe it is for environmental reasons. Maybe it is to support local and regional food producers. Maybe it is for health purposes. Maybe it is because it simply tastes better.


I have been trying to go through a mental checklist before I put food in my grocery cart. I ask myself

• Where was this made or grown? Who am I supporting by making this purchase?
• How much fossil fuel did it take to ship it here?
• How much packaging does it have? What type of packaging is it? Is it reusable or recyclable?
• How much has this food already been processed?
• What is the nutritional value?

...and then I reach for the bag of Sweedish Fish anyways.  I'm not suggesting that I eat like a (Missoula living, environmental studies majoring, patagonia wearing, subaru driving) saint. However, it is fascinating to slow down in the grocery store enough to really ask yourself, "what am I eating, and what are the consequences?" It has affected my choices as a consumer, and also, my appreciation of truly good food.