Local farmers help me connect to earth and sky

Back when we were students there, my friends and I knew where all of the best puddles were at Page High School. Even at the height of coolness, there was no amount of posturing that could keep us from spending pre- and post-school hours soaking ourselves by jumping into their depths. As my puddle-splashing impulses morphed into a desire to stay comfy and dry (at least on most rainy days) rain became for me what it is to many Americans: a nuisance, something to run through on the way to something important, a gloom in the air that becomes an excuse for any turn in mood.

Looking back, I can now see that as one consequence of our food system. When food comes from thousands of miles away, when produce is picked for its eye-pleasing symmetry and uniformity, when meats are butchered beyond any resemblance to the animal they once were and shrink-wrapped like plastic action figures, it’s easy to forget that our core ingredients – fruits, vegetables, meats and grains – are the result of the magical convergence of soil, its nutrients and that wedding day blessing, rain.

Spending time at the farmers’ market acts as not only a great reminder of the origins of food, it also demonstrates the final essential element: the touch of a diligent farmer. Behind the tables covered in produce grown in our figurative backyards are women and men with calloused, dirt-tinted hands. These are the very farmers who pour their own sweat into the fields, sometimes in concert with the rain and sometimes, like this year, in rain’s stead.

Brian Gann, a third generation farmer in McLeansville, said his farm has seen only three-tenths of an inch of rain in the last three weeks. With so little cumulus assistance, Brian, like many area farmers, has had to rely on irrigation, a costly endeavor that puts him in the unfortunate position of choosing between slimming already narrow profit margins or raising prices. “We have a lot of old timer customers from back in my dad’s day,” Brian said during a conversation at the market this past Saturday. “I hate to raise the prices because I know a lot of them live on a fixed income.”

Despite preludes from developers, Brian, also like many area farmers, is choosing to diversify his offerings rather than abandoning his farming roots. By focusing on low-water and –labor crops, like mushrooms, and selling top-quality hand-crafted goods like homemade apple pie and an absolutely irresistible, but limited production, cheddar cheese, he’s able to fill out tables already covered in produce from eggplant to pole beans. In an amazing defiance of the 24 hour day, Brian also finds time, with the help of his mom and brother who share the work load at the family farm, to run a full-service landscaping business, Gann’s Lawn Management.

When I woke up this morning, the sky was grey and the trees were swaying in a strong breeze. After several years of buying food from the people who grow it, and hearing the stories of all they do so that their customers can have those beautiful Japanese eggplants and heirloom tomatoes in every hue from translucent green to deep purple, grey skies no longer look like a prelude to Seasonal Affective Disorder to me. Instead, they look like the prelude to delicious meals and the key ingredient to supporting the livelihoods of people who I have come to deeply respect for their dedication to the land and care of their customers.