Tag: community

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Soaking up the Flavors of Your Soil

By Amy Spiegel

I don’t consider myself much of a keep-on-the-sunny-side-of-life person, but lately I have noticed an emerging trend that has me feeling more in touch with my inner Pollyanna. Living amongst the cornfields of Indiana, one encounters the local farmer’s market and occasional roadside stand. I have passed the same “Fresh Strawberries—two miles” sign for the past three years and still manage to buy the moldy ones from the grocery store. This summer, however, I am feeling a new sense of obligation and solidarity with the proprietors of the numerous stands that have cropped up seemingly on every street corner and highway intersection.

Though I am no economist, I assume that these folks are trying to supplement their incomes, and selling veggies by the roadside is a good way to do this. (For Jim and me, it is selling books on Amazon. Anyone interested in a gently used copy of Dave Barry Talks Back?)

farmer's market 2Certainly I don’t wish economic ill-will on anyone but I have to say that I have immensely enjoyed this new phenomenon. In the past, I have had conflicting feelings with regard to Mom and Pop establishments. While I enjoy their quaint atmosphere and their aesthetic sensibility, the price tag for quaint and aesthetically pleasing has felt a bit steep. Being a tried and true capitalist at heart (at least on this side of the pearly gates), I have often let my wallet rather than my heart lead me directly to the chain grocery store that shall not be named but that starts with a “W” and ends in “Mart.” I have tried to soothe my conscience by taking the children on field trips to this amazing independently owned and operated toy store and Target though I am not sure how much they appreciate being brought to stores full of toys and other such goodies only to be told “Put that down! Don’t touch anything. No, you can’t have that. It’s too expensive!”

No such conflict exists, however, for the new improvised businesses. First of all, there isn’t as much overhead, so prices are increasingly more reasonable. Though I love a bargain, I find the human element is almost equally compelling. There is something very humanizing about buying your produce from the person who actually planted, grew and harvested it. I could swear the food tastes better because I have shaken the hand of the person who put it in the earth. It is so difficult to see the source of things in this country. Made in one place (more than likely not the United States), distributed in another, sold somewhere else. Buying something out of your neighbor’s trunk or stopping to buy food in the actual location in which it was grown gives one a sense of community that is priceless.

The best part is that it is completely organic (no pun intended). No government organization is spearheading the movement. No bureaucrat is overseeing its progress. It’s just Louise selling blueberries to Marge who has been selling her Mary Kay for years. The selection might not be as broad, but you gain something that isn’t for sale, a sense of community. Not the manufactured sense of community you can buy into when you move into some trendy suburb but community that bears a great resemblance to the produce for sale at “Gary’s Vegetable Stand.” It is by no means perfect but has a flavor of its own. There are a few bad apples in the bunch but the overall experience is worth the risk. I like my vegetables like I like my people—with a few imperfections showing so you know they are for real. Too often we buy some glossy imitation of a fruit (not to mention friend) only to discover it (or he or she) is rotten on the inside.

One of my favorite romantic comedies is French Kiss, starring an adorable pre-plastic surgery Meg Ryan and Kevin Kline. In one scene, Kline, whose family owns a vineyard in France (as all good romantic leads do), explains to Ryan how wine is affected by the flavors in the soil. You can literally taste the earth in the final product. I suppose that is true of our local produce as well as ourselves, unless you live like a potted plant. So this week, go out to “Gary’s Veggie Stand” and take a bite out of life. I guarantee you won’t be disappointed.

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I’ve Got Friends in Low Places

By Amy Spiegel

In our kitchen we have a large set of windows overlooking our quiet (when the motorcycles aren’t in season) tree-lined street. I spend a great deal of the day standing, looking out these windows, as I make the kids’ lunches, fix dinner, and do a hundred other small daily tasks. It’s strange that such a beautiful view, at least in the summer, causes me such vexation. You see, two of my good friends (and their swarm of kids with whom my swarm of kids greatly enjoy playing) live almost directly across from these windows and right next to each other. Between us is a church parking lot that functions as a demilitarized zone for the swarm and their roller blades, bikes and tricycles. It is rare that a day passes without me watching one of the kids dash across the street to see if someone can play.

What a blessing, right? Funny how human beings have a talent for taking every blessing and twisting it into a curse. Because while I often smile as I watch my kid’s mad dash toward friendship, there are other times, more often that I care to admit, that I stand on tiptoe to make sure I’m not being left out of anything fun. A recent phone conversation with a friend proved the absolute absurdity of my paranoia. The conversation began innocently enough, as we were discussing carpooling for school. Yet despite the relative unimportance of the topic, I could tell both of us were tense and a bit defensive. You see, carpooling is a very political subject, demanding a great deal of diplomacy and tact, a bit like joining NATO. You are either in and therefore recognized as a “player,” one of the inner circle and worthy of being entrusted with someone else’s offspring, or you are out and left to fend for yourself among the lesser alliances with lesser known acronyms like the IBSA Dialogue Forum or the International Black Sea Club. Finally, I confessed to feeling a bit like a middle schooler and admitted that I was afraid of presuming too much and being left out of the loop in my friend’s plans. She quickly affirmed my value as a friend, and I suddenly felt like I had someone to sit beside me at lunch for the rest of my life. (What is a more likely place for humiliation than a large room full of adolescences balancing trays of food and desperately trying not to look desperate?)

What followed was an honest and refreshing tête-à-tête about how often we feel isolated and excluded from the social circles revolving around us in a seemingly endless chain of play dates and sleepovers. The irony was that I felt this way about this very friend. As she expressed her longing for true community and a sense of belonging, I heard my own voice (only I normally just talk to myself or Jim, if he is unlucky enough to answer his office phone at the wrong time). The more I listened, the more I felt something click in my head about my own views on community. I realized that however I try to disguise it by dressing it up in language about the “body of Christ,” what I really mean when I talk about community is a place where I feel completely comfortable. Though I talk about wanting to serve others and support and encourage them, what I am really looking for is others who will serve and support me. And if they think I am fun, like my cooking, and greatly admire my parenting skills, that’s great too. I am not looking for community; I am looking for an entourage. And as I sat there looking out my windows, my mind came to rest on Jesus. What an entourage He had! The disciples were not exactly prestige friends, and I feel quite certain they weren’t in the elite carpool. Christ had something to offer them, not the other way around. He chose friends who needed friends.

I suddenly saw the vicious cycle I was in.  Thinking only of myself just magnified each perceived slight, which made me think about myself more, and so on. The irony is that when I die to self and let go of my firm grim on self-interest, it is in that moment I find peace. When I am only looking out for myself, I am all I see. (This experience is a bit like looking too closely at one’s reflection in the glare of the dressing room mirror. Absolutely no good can come of it.) I have been standing at the window looking out for myself when all the while I should have been looking out for opportunities to serve. The contentment that I feel in the presence of others does not come from thinking about myself. It’s when I look to the needs of others that I cure my loneliness. The isolation Jesus experienced every day of His life on earth and especially on the cross wasn’t cured by gathering to Himself the best and the brightest. It was through His ultimate sacrifice for our sake that He restored fellowship with His Father, for Himself as well as for ourselves. The community of heaven awaits me if I am willing to lay down my life. God placed me in front of a window looking out, not in front of a mirror looking in.