A Farmer In The Valley and Lettuce In The Belly

I walked past the eggnog in the store last night.

Got that?  I walked past it.

I simply adore eggnog.  Add a splash of good old country Jim Beam or some fancy ass aged rum and call me happy.

But it is so bad for me.  I’ve got ham legs and this pig fattens up easy.

I know that Thanksgiving is going to be a huge feast.I will bake pecan pie. I will stuff myself on mom’s glorious sweet potato casserole. I will eat the dark meat.With gravy.

Which is why I deny the nog, at least for now.  I’ve got to save up some calories.I must eat my veggies and drink (far) fewer margaritas.Otherwise, by the time I lick the last wingbone clean on Black Friday I’ll need Joey’s Thanksgiving pants.

Of course, it’s a lot harder to get excited about veggies and healthy stuff, especially when the grocery stores are in baked-goods overload.  But I do get quite excited by veggies when I go to a farmer’s market.  I always wind up buying tons of produce.  So this morning I went to a small local farm and bought some of these beauties.

I watched these butterheads being cut from the soil by Farmer John himself, wielding a battered but sharp knife.  I heard him explaining the natural alkalinity of their soil and how they have to compensate.  I saw how he put those drip lines together in way that “nobody else does it”.  I walked through the dead cover crops waiting to be turned back into the soil to replenish the earth.  His tanned skin and rough hands tell of the labors of love that go into growing every head of lettuce, broccoli, or cauliflower.  A farm hand even cut a kholrabi just for me.

Now I’m truly excited about salad.  How could I not be?

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