Back To The Farm


   I worry about our kids. I worry that the next generation, while technologically savvy, will be so ignorant to the fundamentals of existence, that without the continued development of devices capable of doing absolutely everything for them, that the next generation will fail. Our children no doubt, meeting their demise, at the mechanically engineered hands of their own creations, concerns me.
     I worry that we as a species have developed to the extent that there is very little soul left. “It’s not personal it’s business,” seems to have become the motivating principle behind almost every chain and franchise, and even by the individuals encountered inside these places. There are so many of us and I worry that the next generation will forget that we are all still individuals, even though we make up the mass. Every advancement seems to bring us farther from ‘close’.
I became aware the other day that my son Nathaniel (six), did not know what a milk man was. So many of the things that kept us connected, grounded and accountable are gone. So many things that allowed us to feel good about our daily lives, from our position in the community, to our trade, to our purchases, to our family and our role in the family, seem to have taken a backseat to speed and accomplishment, advancement and monetary gain. I worry that the defining characteristics of humans, something as simple as talking, have almost come full circle. Soon, to save time, we will go back to a series of grunts and clicks instead of having an actual conversation.
In hopes of, not only connecting with the community, but of potentially inspiring a domino affect that would have such liberating consequences as strangers acknowledging each other with a wave or a smile, last week I made a list. The list encompassed as many of the aspects of daily life that have changed for the worse in the last fifty years, that I could think of. At the very top of the list was the most rudimentary of human essentials: food. I don’t know about you, but grocery shopping is far from my favorite thing to do. 
About a mile north of our three acres in Leonard, there are eighty acres known as Addison Farms. Husband and wife, Rick and Louise Willson partnered with John Comps (White Tail Trucking) two years ago with the intention of providing superior produce.
When I arrived at Addison Farms, late Sunday afternoon, Louise was straightening wooden crates of honey crisp apples. She is one of those people that you feel like you have known forever; with her bright smile, quick laugh, and genuine personality. After greeting me she apologized that she wasn’t quite done straightening up, and I got the impression that they are never really done ‘straightening up’ at Addison Farms, but instead are always looking for ways to improve, not just the farm, and the charming displays, but the community as well. 
Joining us was Louise’s husband, Rick. “So”, I said, “I heard a rumor that Addison Farms donated a pumpkin for every child at the elementary school last year…” “Yep, that’s true,” Rick said, “We plan to do that again this year.” “The fire department too [received pumpkins]!” Louise added, “and the disabled veterans...” 
“We sell pumpkins to the veterans at 75% off," Rick clarified. " ... and then they sell them in Sterling Heights, and use the proceeds to buy turkeys for Thanksgiving dinner at the VA hospital in Detroit. Whenever there is a charitable cause, we are willing to help out.”  It was evident that this is not only a point of pride for Addison Farms, but something that all of them really enjoy.
I thought briefly of my list, the milk man, and the things I wanted to change. I watched the friends and locals, milling around talking, laughing. Families came and got, not only produce, but their questions answered about cooking and recipes. Everyone left happy. I tried to imagine what would happen if I approached management at a chain superstore and asked if all the kids at my son’s school could have a free pumpkin? The idea made me smile.
I decided I was on the right track to achieve my goal, as Louise started to talk about her mom, Betty.  Louise walked around the display with me, pointing out the things that her eighty-three-year-old, mother had helped with. Neatly printed on the bottom of many tiny, decorated pumpkins, aptly named Munchkin Pumpkins, was an ‘M’ to signify mom. Betty and Louise both delight in shucking the Indian corn, “It’s like a present,” Louise told me as she grabbed an unshucked ear, and started to pull off the layers, “because you never know what’s inside! Every time is a surprise!” She held out beautiful, brightly colored exhibit A.
The sweet corn reminds Louise of her father who past away last year. She talks about his words coming out of her mouth sometimes when she talks to customers, helping them find the perfect ears of corn.  Her father had a discriminating eye when it came to ears, and Louise says that he swore by taking a taste to be certain of the sweetness, tossing the rejects back. “Of course,” she laughed, “that was fifty years ago!”
I hold firm to the belief that all of our loved ones continue to live as long as we let the best of them become a part of us. It occurred to me as she spoke, that her father wasn’t really gone. Although I didn’t know him, it seemed to me that he was still there, shining in her eyes, and still very much alive in the stories. 
While Rick and Louise prepared cartons of produce for some customers, I talked with John, who has been making syrup since he was little. Everyone local knows that John Comp's syrup is the best around, and it was inspiring to learn how much of his production was donated. He told me that he works with his friend Eric, and though working with trees is unpredictable, last year they were able to harvest 50 gallons of syrup.
John said that a syrup festival has grown from the love of the product; without advertising, a few hundred people come every March to partake in the harvesting and learn how syrup is made. “We take kids out,” John says, “even adults, I mean we’re all kids, and show them how it’s done.”  Having been presented with a bottle of syrup to take home, I am now personally able to vouch for the validity of the rumors: John Comp makes, hands down, the best syrup I have ever tasted.
Rick gave me some honey suckle apples that turned out to be almost too good to share. I also bought a spaghetti squash which for $1.50  gave us every bit of 8 large servings. I made note of things I wanted to come back for: butternut squash, peaches, green beans, zucchini, broccoli, eggplant, pumpkins, definitely need some Indian corn, (now I know I’ll need to add more syrup to the list very soon), and Rick assured me that we needed to come back for a hayride.
I can’t think of very many things that I would rather do. I hugged Louise when I left, one because I’m a hugger, and two because, like I wrote; she is one of those people that you feel like you have known forever. She thanked me for coming, and I gushed one last time about their produce. 
She smiled, “We are quite proud of our produce, because we work really hard out there in the fields.” I smiled back and nodded because, frankly I have an almost speechless respect for anyone working hard for their dreams and contributing to the community with the same enthusiasm. 
Backing up to pull out of Addison Farms, I didn’t feel like I had accomplished something that I could cross off my list. I felt like I had found something that I needed to add to my list regularly. This is the kind of shopping I can handle. Right up the road, this is the kind of shopping that I can feel good about, and the kind of food that I can feel good about serving my children.
My optimism flooded back. I smiled, realizing that I felt good just thinking about it, and I had only a split second to think of waving, my goals for my kids and what that meant to me, before not one, but two cars went by. Both honked. Both waved, too.  I thought of the second thing on my list as I drove home, but now my sense of urgency seemed to have subsided; it seemed to have been replaced with hope. 
Speaking of hope, I hope to see you all at Addison Farms, after all you are what you eat. If you are a proud parent of a Leonard Elementary student, please navigate to our guest book and give us a word or two of your thoughts, opinions, or ideas. We will count them as presents, while we love the masses, knowing the individual is all that is left of originality. Return to Addison Farms with your flier and student I.D. Consider this a coupon and recieve a free pumpkin for your child. 

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