Resurrection

While I am no longer strictly a localvore I continue to support local growers and producers...and anyone who supports them too! This blog will continue to focus on food and food politics. Special emphasis on the the people and places in my local area (now Seattle, WA) who are, like me, working to raise and support sustainable foodways.

In recent months I have relocated from Pullman to Seattle. Fresh local food abounds in the markets and restaurants all over and around this city. Likewise, there is no shortage of amazing, concept driven (often socially conscious) food projects here. I hope to profile many of these restaurants and businesses in the coming months. I am confident that this city will offer no shortage of people, places, tastes, and topics to cover. So, I am thrilled to return to this blog again. This time in the thriving place where grew up and where I have now returned with an more open heart and mouth.

H.

A weekend home

I spent the weekend among muddy pastures of ripe pumpkins in the company of family, turning leaves, and (of course) good food. An invitation to visit my mother and stepfather at their new home in Duvall, sweetened by the generous offer of a paid plane ticket, found me in a packed commuter friday afternoon. Excited to reunite with my family after too long away from them, I settled in for take off. A tinge of anxiety crept into my thoughts, as well. I worried also about the difficulty of adhering to my dietary values among the unfamilair foodways of Western Washington- especially as the only vegetarian and overt locavore in our bunch. Over the past month, I've become increasingly aware of and committed to my local producers in Eastern Washington and Northern Idaho. My diet consists of 85-90% locally produced food, much of it generated between the Washington mountain passes and the Montana line. If they are not wholly local, some of my staples, bread and cheese in particular, are amalgamations of local and non-local ingredients. Soy milk and tofu, however come from outside of the Northwest.

The bread, from the Moscow Co-op (my life line), is a labor intensive production of the skilled baking staff. Their bread is substantial, and deliciously whole. I love pulling my loaf of choice down from the racks, the still-warm crust giving slightly to the pressure of my fingers. It's easy to buy local when bread is this good. And yet if we're going to be precise here, not all of the ingredients that go into making the breads are local. Depending on the bread the flour may be a product of the Shepherd's Grain, a local producer, or an organic farm in Montana. None the less, as I understand it, all other components are predominantly local. Overall, in my mouth the soft body of the bread tastes like love and community. There is a certain pride that comes with each bite; pride for the local (and non-local) organic producers and the artisans that make my bread possible.

Cheese is another special staple, I particularly relish lately. Taking a cue from Barbara Kingsolver's advice in Animal, Vegetable, Mineral (a book I'm currently devouring and will likely discuss more explicitly in future posts) I try to purchase regional, artisan cheeses. Though I'd like to find a product of my immediate neighborhood, Beecher's (in Seatle) provides a lot of my cheeses- which I use more often now to dress the squash, kale, and variety of Autumn vegetable casseroles I eat in abundance lately. Kingsolver's chapter on cheese making at home inspires me to undertake the magical process of turning a "full moon pot of milk" into a soft braid of mozzerella or a golden round of cheddar. (140). I want to experience the poetry of that "moment of alchemy when milk divides into clear whey and white curd, or the mozzarella stretches in our hands to a glossy golden skein," in my own kitchen. In coming months, I plan to hazard an attempt at homemade cheese, and hopefully eventually ween myself in this one small, but powerfully creative way, from dependence on others for my food. For now I'm thankful to producers like Beecher's and the Co-op buyers, chefs, and bakers that make it possible for me to savor local foods. Without a doubt a deepening love and commitment to the service of such local producers and grocers informs almost every bite I take, and has begun to shape my aspirations for myself in way completely unexpected but for which I thank god.

A recent trip with Dan to the Pullman Safeway to grab a few odds and ends for dinner, found me totally bewildered and yes a little disgusted by the very same products that once filled my grocery basket. I can't remember what compelled us to forgo the Co-op for the neon lit aisles of a major grocer, but any thoughts I might have had about being able to find fresh local food at Safeway were quickly dismissed by the piles of stale produce laying, defeated in sad little heaps. Even the organic section showed the wear and tear of what I assume was a long transport from origins unknown. The greens were limp and discolored, the peppers and carrots were withered and mealy. A surge of anxiety played on my nerves as I surveyed the selection. Identifying the origin of any of the produce seemed impossible, and the few stickered fruits and vegetables all professed home towns far and away from Washington. It was clear that I was not going to be able find much of anything to sustain me at this particular major grocer- one of two I might add that feed Pullman residents. The other, Dismores, had also already proved dismal. We left with the few fresh vegetables I could find and a cut of Alaskan caught salmon- the only fish in the case that didn't hail from the likes of Thailand.

I savored our meal that night with a conflicted conscious. The work Dan and I put into making our dinner, cutting greens, dressing fish, and arguing gently about how best to roast vegetables lent something sacred to an otherwise suspicious meal. To cook, especially with one you love, is to share in a sacred process of turning food into nourishment. I cherished watching him neatly cut the potatoes and cabbage that I so often (on my own) cut into untidy little strips. Under his hands red potatos became miniature half moons that glowed among a bed of kale, cabbage, and bok choy. And I was proud when after some reassurance he trusted my application of vegetable stock, olive oil and ginger before roasting the whole lot in the oven. Prouder still that the taste, when it finished cooking, was just right. There is something deeply romantic about sharing mouthfuls of autumn vegetables and the warm pink flesh of fish that you cooked together.

However, a lingering vision of the sorrowful produce and obscure cash of sea food from whence our dinner came lingered in the aftertaste. The experience of a local diet taught my tongue the delicacy and variety of flavors. My untutored taste buds had received the blandness of commercial apples and melons from California happily enough. But from the flesh of local heritage tomatoes and concord grapes, white peaches, nectarines, and orchard apples I learned what fruit, and indeed what flavor itself was. There was no going back. Free of the cave, I could not unlearn the world my eyes, my hands, my mouth, tongue, and tummy discovered. Although, our cooking methods were successful that night, no amount of skill can turn the lack luster, nutrient deficient offspring of a commercial farm into the succulent fruits of a local orchard. The difference was evident. But it wasn't just about nutrition. The environmental impact of the food on our plates was suspect also. I began to realize with this meal that without forcibly detaching my heart and my conscious from my food I would never be able to go back to my previous dietary negligence. Local food had already won me: heart, soul, and stomach.

It was with this experience in mind that with a tinge of anxiety I took off from Pullman Friday to visit family in Seattle. As I realized when I became a vegetarian, food is very political; it's just as important to maintain one's values and habits as it is to respect those of others. I come from a family of omnivores, health conscious and aware but very busy- too busy to easily accommodate a localvorian lifestyle. My family shares a love of good food, and my sister in particular understands the value of organic. But it is one thing to be a health conscious, aware consumer, and far a other thing to completely reject the commercial food systems upon which Americans depend for the bulk of their sustenance. My decision was radical. They understand and respect my mission, but my choice does not obligate them to make the same one nor is it my desire to push them to. Certainly, I admire Kingsolver's farming family, up there in the Appalachains, cutting their own asparagus, baking bread and forming homemade cheeses. I admire and yearn for something similar in my future. But let's face it, not many American families share that kind of existence. I hope one day more and more will, and I hope to be among them, but at present it's a lot to ask someone to give up their way of life, imported kiwi and all.

I knew going home that I could not fairly expect my family to stock their larder with locally produced foods. Nor could I expect that everyone patiently accommodate my dietary ideals when going out for meals, as we often do together. I uncomfortably contemplated tossing my new-forming principals out the window for the duration of my stay. Should I just "let it go" for the few days I was there? (or) Should I make my best attempt to tap into local food culture while there? A stop over in Boise allowed me a few minutes to call Dan with my concerns. I considered that he might help me locate a restaurant or two that would strike a harmony between my family's appetites and my own preoccupations. Still strapped into my seat on the runway, I appealed for his assistance over the phone. He suggested Cafe Flora on Madison in Seattle (good distance from my mom's home in Duvall), and then gently suggested that I might have to "break my rules," for the weekend.

It's true that my diet does seem codified by a set of rules. Earlier blog posts capture me in an attempt to outline those very rules for myself, but at this point they seem less like regulations and more like deeply held values. The thought of just throwing my concerns out the window seemed as painful and disorienting as asking an orthodox Jew to forget being kosher for a weekend. For a moment that same flush of anxiety that crept over me in Safeway surged again, and I felt my cheeks go hot. My new found interests have blossomed into a full bore conviction, and I grappled for a moment with the idea of "taking a vacation" from localvorian life. But it remained that I could no more show up home a staunch, self-righteous locavore than I could show up confirmed Hindu- not without radically unsettling my family at least.

Dan was onto something, I needed to open myself to the reality that I needed to balance my new values with the long-established values and practices of my family. They are deeply supportive and loving and I knew that they would patiently respect my desire to eat local, but not to the extent that I single handedly altered the diets of all for a weekend. I wasn't coming home to be tyrannical and self-centered. I wasn't transitioning to a localvorian diet for that reason either. Quite the contrary, respecting and loving my community (including my family) was at the heart of all of it. As I hung up the phone I realized what I really cared about was seeing my mom, hugging my sister, joking with my brother in law, and deepening my relationship to my new stepdad. What I cared about was being with them. Connecting with our home town farming community was also exiting and appealing, but I would not push it on this trip. I would adhere to my diet where I could, and chose the second best options when necessary.

To my great surprise and happiness, we would in fact connect with our local farmers and producers almost without meaning to. We would learn new tastes together, and enter the realm of sacred food cultures as a happy company. Friday evening, hunger found us at Whole Foods Market, a favorite organic grocer. I realize people have qualms with major organic grocers like this, but at 9 o'clock with an empty stomach it was a welcomed alternative to another trip to Safeway. Dan and I frequent Whole Foods when I'm home, and it is a favorite of my sister and her husband as well. The prepared food section in particular offers a bounty of delicious, well, whole foods that we have all happily consumed on several occasions.

The search for a quick and healthy dinner found my mom, step dad, and I perusing the cases of steaming entrees. Admittedly, I was the only one fixated on food at the time- the other two having already eaten. But my mom, new to Whole Foods, showed some interest in all the strange foods and products around her. Realizing she'd never been to the market before my hunger slacked long enough to point out all the delicious little treats that make the market so (personally) drool-inducing. I was excited at the prospect of my mom forgoing other commercial markets for- yes- Big Organic. Here at least organic brands made available to a mass public. Her extremely busy schedule does not reasonably allow for frequent trips to farmers markets, and even the Redmond PCC is a bit too out of the way to present a real alternative to the Safeway nestled at the bottom of her neighborhood in Duvall. Whole Foods however presented a real option for her, a place she could shoot down to from school (she's a teacher) for a quick, healthy organic dinner. She showed some interest but mostly teased me for my "odd ball" tastes. Soy milk, tofu, and hot oat bran are more than a little unappealing to her. But that's okay! We left with a basket of vegetarian lasagna, bran, Vanilla Silk, and pretty little collection of desserts from the bakery. That night I ate voraciously and slept heavy in a warm bed, feeling very much like I was home again.

Saturday found us at Craven Farm in Snohomish, among muddy fields abundant with families and laughing children, all eager for the same grail. The perfect pumpkin. My sister, Heather, loves halloween in general, but pumpkins in particular hold a special appeal for her. The magic of the season is, for her, crystalized in these sunny orbs. She is something of a pumpkin artist, blessed with the special capability of recognizing the potential of a perfectly shaped gourd. "I think I can hear it's voice," she'd say about a particularly good pumpkin, turning it around and around to examine its shape. At thirty-one she can still see with that special sight reserved for the very young. She can see the jack-o-latern grin in the orange plane of an uncarved gourd. She can see witches crossing the moon. She can hear the voices of spirits in the corn, and sees their gossamere skirts as they pass delicately by the blind disbelievers. My sister is special like that.

For the time we were out in the field, or in the farm store perusing pumpkin fudge and kerns jars packed with dried, homemade soup the boggling intricacies of this complicated world were boiled down to cold air, muddy shoes, and laughter. The reduction tasted of simplicity; the essence that is common to each of us, despite our often complicated lives. For that evening, even as the field receded into dusk around us I thought- it could be possible to stretch these moments into a life. I think that ultimately, my family is a family of simple needs. We each crave love, stability, and sense of belonging. We crave lives that are rich with simplicity. At least this is my hypothesis, and I support it with the evidence of my sister laughing, and bright in the way that people are when they are exactly where they want to be. My mother, submitting to deliciousness of a homemade donut, iced with cream cheese and washed down with warm coffee. My mother, for a sweet moment enjoying fullness without guilt. Me, reverting to that silly place I go when I forget to be anything but just me. All of us in our ways enjoying the flavor of the chill air on an autumn evening at the farm.

We left happy with a trunk full of pumpkins, some too big for one set of hands to hold and one, just a palm full, to represent me on Halloween when I'm away from home. The pumpkin hunt mustered healthy appetites that had us soon debating where to eat. By some serendipitous turn we decided on The Grange Cafe in Duvall, a restaurant my mom heard well of, but which none of us had yet been to. As it turned out The Grange supports the local farming community. To my delight our adorable waitress Becka explained that the bulk of the restaurant's food derived from local origins. A chalk board above the galley listed the names of local farms the restaurant supports, and I read each name with a mixture of pride and excitement. A look at the wine list thrilled me even more. One label in particular, Novelty Hill, touched a cord for our party. My sister and I grew up on Novelty Hill. We grew from children into women on that hill; it is where I played and spent hours pretending lives of ants in the back yard, and where Heather prepared for her first prom and later celebrated her wedding shower. The roots of our early lives are set down in the soil there.

Our memories mingle with the soil of that hill, and I imagined, were in some part distilled in the Novelty's red wine. I imagined tasting memories of my childhood in its bouquet, and felt honored to see the place and its producers recognized on the Grange's wine list. Ultimately, I consumed several glasses of a local pinot grigio, while others drank local beer and organic soda. The food when it came was phenomenal. I've been unable to secure fresh local fish in Pullman, and delighted in the flavor of perfectly moist salmon set before me. Sam braved the fire of a hot curried chicken over rice that made me miss meat in a way that nothing else has. Everyone seemed to enjoy each bite, and few scraps remained when the plates were removed. Perhaps it was the fabulous dinner, or (for me) the wine, but despite full stomachs we all ordered dessert. Sam and Heather shared the decadent ganache brownie sundae, Fred tried the razzleberry pie with ice cream, and I devoured the cinnamon bun bread pudding. Admittedly, I'm keen on dessert in general, but this dish in particular challenged conceptions of sweets as empty and unhealthy. Quite the contrary, the whole affair nourished my soul and left me full in the purest sense. I was delighted. And later I slept dreaming of pumpkins and the taste of cinnamon and carmel. Home in Pullman now, I miss my family immensely, but look forward to my next visit to the green lap of the Snohomish Valley knowing there lies an abundance of good, whole food and community.

Signs, Questions, and Uncertainty OH MY!

The difficulty inherent in my project was vaguely clear to me from the moment of its conception. In fact, it is the very difficulty of undertaking and then sustaining a localvorian diet that makes such a move significance. That our food ways extend so far and are so entangled (and obscured) makes local sustainable farming precious, and the bounty of co-op bins and farmer's market baskets is so singular, even sacred. These have an identifiable source. One you can touch. Smell. Nourish with your hands, and be in turn nourished by. And in a world feed predominantly on the mass produced pearls of major agribusinesses, a diet of waxy fruit and simulated freshness, a mouthful of organic, locally produced peach is sacred . The strangely over size apples and the sallow, tasteless bananas marketed in super markets and grocery stores as the flavors of a fresh, healthy diet come of origins often unknown, and by way of unsustainable sacrifice to the environment. For many, it may be fair to say that in fact their origin is the selves and bins of the markets where consumers find them. Beyond that, the average consumer, often has few ways of knowing- but in many cases may assume their foods derive from mass, environment depleting farms and orchards of massive agribusinesses.

And yet, even when health and the environment are concerned, it is not so easy to denounce the neon-lit orchards of the super market. When we struggle simply to find time to cook dinner, talk to our loved ones, or simply just be human it is a lot to ask a person to consider where each and every one of the foods they eat originate, and how each was produced. Few people have the time, the patience, or conviction to "do the work" of conscious consumption (be it economic or bodily). Even my boyfriend, a remarkably socially conscious man, when talking about my project suggested that the work inherent in undertaking a localvorian diet discouraged him from doing it himself. And it's true it does take work. The difficultly of such a practice goes far beyond making dietary sacrifices (like chocolate or tea); it involves developing and sustaining a level of awareness and commitment that I've yet to encounter in anything else I've done in my life. Of course it does, we're talking about trying to circumvent a huge and complicated system with global reach that controls in large part the diets of millions of consumers. Even beyond that, we're talking about circumventing long-standing agricultural practices that have taken on the form of institutions. We're talking about circumventing industrial farming, agribusiness, food distribution, importing, exporting, even the dietary myths of a culture that believes in the maximum variety of choices. Above and beyond all else, we're talking about challenging a culture that regards the earth as the property and pantry of humanity. This is a culture who's very grocery stores are a testament to our unwillingness as consumers to yield to the boundaries of space and time when it comes to our food. The presence of out season fruits and vegetables, products flown, trucked, trained, or shipped from the farthest reaches just so we can have lemons or pineapple in winter, says much about the sense of entitlement that governs our food ways. When you consider that to simply eat food produced of your own regional environment is challenge all of this. To commit to eating from origins identifiable; to support farmers and foodways in your community; to support a system of food production that depletes the earth; to simply be deeply conscious of what you consume is to remove your own sense of entitlement and to deny yourself wants and desires that exceed your place on the earth. But it is also, to commit to learning and searching for information. Because you cannot consciously consume if you don't have the information to make informed choices.

And that brings me to another challenge I recently became cognizant of. It can be extremely difficult to locate the necessary information about the origins and production of a huge variety of foods. Even organic markets that cater to the local farming movement (if we might call it that) provide ample oportunities for confusion and uncertainty for the localvorian. I'd not yet considered that I might have to closely scrutinize the products at stores like PCC or even large farmer's markets like Pike Place until taking a tour of the stalls at each this past (long) weekend. Let me explain...

Early Monday morning, my boyfriend and I headed down to Pike Place camera in hand to peruse the selection and talk with vendors about their origins. We arrived as many were setting up the stalls, unpacking the flowers, honey, and ripe produce that would feature in countless tourist's photographs of the market. I spent the majority of my time photographing the produce and flowers whose rich colors lit the dim corridors of the market. While photographing a heap of ripe fruits I noticed that many originated out of state, some from as far away as California. The thought occurred to me that local markets such as this do not necessarily supply only local produce, a thought that though not incredibly provocative revealed the need for me to define what a local meant in the context of my project. Is it acceptable, I thought, to buy and consume the products of sustainable farming in other regions? Is it acceptable, to buy products at co-op's and markets that support local sustainable farmers even if the products are not local to my area? I began to contemplate the California oranges and the sticky, golden honey combs I'd hoped to buy with a sense of concern. The oranges came from a family farm in California, and the honey came from hives from a farm at the foothills of the Cascades...was one more acceptable in my diet than the other?

Over by the piles of fresh caught fish, Dan talked with a monger about buying three pounds of Lake Washington crawdads for dinner...were these more acceptable in my diet than red rose-colored flesh of the Alaskan caught salmon, draped across the ice packed stall? Was an Idaho-farmed tilapia more or less localvorian than the writhing bag of insect-like crawdads Dan later bought? Suddenly, I became powerfully aware of the difficulty of defining the local of a localvorian diet. It is difficult, certainly to sketch imaginary boundaries to my consumption, but necessary. Will I support Washington State farmers as a whole, or will I support Eastern Washington farmers only? How will I define my local foodways, to what extent will I allow them to reach? Likewise, I must ask myself whether it is acceptable to justify buying non-local products from sustainable farmers elsewhere or from local farmers markets and co-op's on whose purchase they rely in part.

I am not giving some conscious grocers their dues though. While, certainly it became clear to me that I cannot just assume that local markets = local food, nor can I overlook the flexibility of the word local itself, the grocers I visited this weekend did demonstrate a willingness to inform the public about their products. In some cases (as with packaged or prepared foods for instance) it takes a higher degree of scrutiny and the bravery to ask a few questions to the folks behind the counter (or if necessary the manager) to locate the origins of certain foods. And certainly, there are cases even at PCC, what I consider one of the more progressive organic markets in Washington, where no conclusive answers can be found. But, the willingness of some grocers to educate the public, and encourage them to buy locally produce products is evident. Most notably at PCC informative tags and signs identify the origin of produce, sometimes regionally (as in "grown in California") and sometimes giving the specific farm name (like "River Valley Organics"). Little tags on dried goods and other items in the store also identify and encourage the purchase of local products. The tags proclaim that the purchase of a specific product supports local producers (a look at the box yields the name and location of the producer). I was surprised to see even in Uwajimaya the presence of some of the most informative signs I've ever observed. Some provided a good amount of detail about the taste, possible use, and origin of the produce, others offered up recipes, and one other explained how an "unusual windstorm" in Coachella, California destroyed hot climate crops like peppers and eggplant, depleting the selection and driving whole sale prices up. This last sign went on to promise relief when Fresno's crops go to harvest, and promised to supply alternatives until then. I was impressed by the willingness of these grocers to supply their consumers with information such as this- information that encourages knowledgeable consumption in a very real way. Certainly, both grocers market products that do not originate locally, and it may be argued that the ambiguity around concepts like sustainable (what is sustainable? what isn't?) and organic, like local, complicates their ability to promise you environmentally friendly, guaranteed organic, let along local food. But there is at least an effort to support and encourage customer's right to know about the products they buy, and that makes me hopeful.

Over the next few weeks, as I begin to transition my diet I will be working on answering these questions for myself. I can say that I intend to restrain my consumption to local, sustainable farms in Washington State only. I will however get my protein, soy milk, and condiments (which include spices, salt, and for the time being sugar) from local co-op's. My goal is to navigate the difficulty of eating consciously, and locally, but not at the expense of my health. It is important to me to eat roundly and maintain a vegetarian diet, and it is in that mindset that I will allow certain concessions (like soy milk or tofu). As a girl with a sweet tooth, and a high grade addiction to tea I anticipate the difficulty of going without those foods I do not need, but want. As a girl with a history of eating disorders I anticipate also the difficulty of not having access to the array of diet foods that have allowed me to eat "light." I've lived on a strident diet of low calorie, low or non-fat food for over three years and worry about giving up 40-calorie bread for the thick, heavy loaves at the co-op, among other things. I worry about not being able to satiate a sweet tooth with 60 calorie pudding packs or 25 calorie hot chocolate. I worry about not having gum to chew instead of food. But I also recognize that these worries derive from a backwards desire to trade food for "food" and fullness for thinness. It is not beyond my reasoning ability to recognize that I will be trading diet foods for whole foods, and may as a result relearn what food and eating is. But my anxieties about weight (be they rational or not) should be acknowledge among the difficulties inherent in this project. As I suggested earlier, I not just talking about eating food, I am talking about going up against a system and a culture that is ingrained deeply in my own way of being, in my desires, my anxieties, and my beliefs about myself. But, I'd rather think of it as reconnecting my body with the earth that sustains it. I'd rather think of it as relearning what it means to be nourished, and full.

So, here is to the difficulties, the hard work, and the search for awareness. That which makes difficult, in this case also makes sacred.

A beginning

Local sustainable farming is invaluable to the health of our bodies, communities, and world. This blog will follow my experience as I transition to a diet consisting of only local foods and explore my local farming community. For my purposes, over the next 8-9 months I will only consume food products from the Eastern Washington region. Through conscious consumption and engagement with the local farming community I hope to form a deeper connection to my food, to its producers, and to the environment.

While I am thrilled about the prospect of eating local, I will likely allow a few "cheats". For instance, as a soy milk drinker I am not yet certain how to secure milk through the local market. I am considering switching to dairy for the year, although I would very much prefer not doing so. Staples like milk, however, present an interesting challenge to my plan and I will need to determine what non-local products I will still purchase and what I will give up. Since, I do travel to visit loved ones in Seattle throughout my academic year I will likely relax the criteria on my diet during those visits. While in Seattle I will try to eat predominantly local foods, but will allow foods from throughout Washington State into my diet, as well. Regardless of where I am, however, for the next year I will not eat any food from outside either my immediate region (Eastern or Wester Wa) or larger state.

In any case, my transition to a predominantly localvorian diet will begin gradually. I intend to begin first by incorporating one meal a day that is entirely composed of local products. Over the course of four to six weeks I will incorporate more and more local foods, until my diet is composed entirely of Eastern Washington products.

I'm really excited to begin this experience, both eating and connecting with local farmers. I think ultimately what I really want to get out of this experience are connections- deep connection to my environment, to my communities, to my food, and to others who are also interested in food ways and alternatives to mass farmed and produced food that fills grocery stores throughout the country. There is real potential in the local food movement to make powerful social and environmental change, and to connect with one another- to rediscover a sense of interconnectedness and community. And that to me is the most rewarding part of this whole plan. So, I look forward to the next months, and hope you will follow me as I adventure through the gardens, plots, and market stalls of my region.