Yoga Tales from Rural Maine: You've got to hug your farmer

Peter and I have a very small weekly food budget. It works out to be about $2.50 per person per meal for three meals a day, 7 days a week—and in weeks where there are very few yoga students, that budget drops even lower. There’s a direct connection between work and food for us, which is, by turns, equally stressful and beautiful. It grounds us, but it also often freaks me out. Finding creative, nutritious mostly vegan ways to feed us is a high-stakes adventure. Like everything in life, it’s a practice.

This spring/summer we have made the decision to dedicate 25% of our food money to fresh, local produce from our beloved local farmers. 20% of our weekly budget will go toward our CSA share in Lally Broch Farm, a compassionate and creative homestead doing really good work in the world. We had to pay in advance, which took some kerfoobling, but I made it happen because it matters; it matters in all sorts of ways. The other 5% will go to farm stand and farmers’ market purchases.

Yesterday, I got very panicky about my decision to write such a big check. What if the weather is poor and the farm’s crops fail? What if I’m too tired or too busy or too confused to find ways to prepare or store all of that beautiful perishable produce? In the past, my farm shares have often wound up being compost shares, because I had to compost so many things that wilted before I could figure out how to eat them. (What on earth does one do with celeriac? How much kale can one person really eat?)

But having taken a few years off from farm-sharing, I spent that time doing two vital things: healing my body and learning to cook. I’m still not 100% well, but I have enough energy and stamina to cook more often than not. And I’ve learned how to improvise with what I have in the kitchen. Armed with a salad spinner, a good knife, and my stick blender, I can make anything into a soup or a smoothie.

My hand shook as I took out my checkbook this morning to write my farm share check, but, like everything in life, eating well is a practice. Having faith in one’s ability to be healthy and strong and creative enough to cook is a practice. And if I know how to do anything, I know how to practice. This is what yoga teaches us. Don’t worry; just practice. So, I took a nice, deep breath. I let it out. I found my courage. And I wrote the check. Two and a half weeks of food money all at once, to one place. I made the commitment.

And I was rewarded by a visit from the kindest, most beautiful farmer you could ever imagine. She arrived as planned on my doorstep this morning, wearing striped tights (my favorite!) and beautiful jewelry she made herself out of eggshells (eggshells, I tell you!) and she handed me my pre-season delights: radishes, chives, fresh rosemary, thyme, & mint; beet greens and bok choy (I think); and a spring salad mix. All washed and neatly bagged and fairly broadcasting the loving energy with with they were planted and cultivated and cleaned and brought to me.

We stood there in the sunshine on this bright June day, both overjoyed. She thanked me for some kind things I had posted on Facebook, just when she needed them recently. Her eyes welled up with tears of happiness and gratitude. And when I opened my beautiful bag of greens and herbs, mine did, too. (She even threw in a welcome gift of lavender soap!)

I wanted to hug her, but I didn’t want to make her uncomfortable, so I said, “Are you a hugger?” And she embraced me in the warmest hug you could imagine and then she stepped back and smiled and said with jolly vibes and deep sincerity: “You’ve got to hug your farmer!”

Indeed, my friends, you really, really do.

My first pre-season delivery from Lally Broch Farm.