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Picadilly Farm – Part 1

The outdoors in New England is starting to give indications that Mother Nature might be considering spring. I don’t want to jinx things however, so I will be very cautious about my wording. Perhaps we might get to spring? Maybe?

Be that as it may, it’s CSA farm season. This for me, means find the shareholder form for Picadilly Farm, fill it out,  hand over some money (gulp!) and hope for a good farm season. Not for everyone is a CSA, it must be said. You are taking part in the risks and the rewards of the farming season, the way food is supposed to be grown. Food grown this way is more expensive than Wal-mart. There isn’t any way around that. If you do the math, it works out to about 25$/week. Do you spend 25$/week on veggies? If you do, then perhaps you should consider a CSA.

Okay, so what is a CSA? CSA stands for Community Supported Agriculture. I’ve been involved in one since 2004. Bear Hill Farm was the first farm. It was a wonderful place, and we would still be members if we didn’t live an hour away. I suppose for me, the reason that I got into it was my mother’s assertion that there were no good veggies in the north. Vegetables are a serious concern in my mother’s side of the family. When you grow up with nearly everybody in the family (on both sides) having a garden, people get rather passionate about their veggies. On my father’s side, to a degree, it was about frugality. For anybody who had lived through the Great Depression, not having a garden was the absolute height of craziness. My grandmother used every inch of her 3/4 acre lot.

On my mother’s side, my grandfather farmed for many years (my mother still can wring the neck with great dexterity though she admits that my grandmother was better at it.) Also, for many years, they were strictly vegetarian. Religious concerns. Be that as it may, to this day Mom has a huge bowl of fruit in the middle of the table and she has massive quantities of veggies in the fridge. Dad has to make fruit and veggie runs to the farmer’s market fairly regularly.

So my mother was certain that decent veggies simply did not exist north of the Mason-Dixon line. I was determined to prove her wrong.

Enter the CSA. More next time. I have to go do some gardening myself.

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