The idea of Community Supported Agriculture (CSA) has always appealed to my husband and I. He is from the Midwest, grew up on farmland owned by his family for three generations. I'm the daughter of a fisherman and went to an agricultural college, majored in Natural Resource Conservation, and believe in eating locally, community support for local agriculture and eating fresh food in almost any form.

Years ago we joined a co-op of local farmers, paid our dues, agreed to volunteer (work) a few hours a season at the pick-up depot and in return receive an equal share of whatever the harvest was each week. The weekly share could be bountiful in late July and August and meager in June and late October. Not all the produce was familiar ("What is Kohlrabi?" and "What do I do with a Celeriac?") and actually 'working' at the depot was hot, often dirty but easily avoided. Any claim of inconvenience, 'unexpected' situation, or physical malady was always accepted. After all, it was voluntary. Three or four seasons later, I began to ask myself was I getting enough. Was fresh food, being part of the community support, being expected to work, worth the money? Were other people weighing accurately and only taking their share? Were the people "in charge" spending my money on the vegetables I liked? Was the share big enough?

During the last season I purchased a share, I kept track of every ounce of produce, compared the price to the cheapest products available elsewhere, factored in how much my labor 'cost' for the few hours I worked during the season and collected irrefutable evidence that, in fact, I was not getting enough.

The next season I did not buy a share. I was no longer a member of the CSA. I did however lose my full time job. I was no longer a member of the working community. I took a part time job. My generous employer enrolled me in sales training at the Prosperity Institute. Ah... something for free! At last I was getting enough! And what I was getting would forever change how I view everything.

Fast forward a few years to last week, opening day for the CSA depot. This year I did not buy a share.
I did however, volunteer to work. I made a commitment to show up every Thursday and to do whatever they asked me to do, for as much time as they needed me to do it. Why? Because I believe in Community Supported Agriculture, because I gave my word to a friend that I would help out, because I want to learn that you get what you give, that there are unlimited possibilities in the Universe, that we are all connected, a butterfly flaps his wings in Brazil and there is a tornado in Arkansas. Because, why not? I've started saying yes more. I like taking chances. I like experiences.

The tiny woman who runs the depot is sun browned, 0% body fat, every inch of exposed flesh is underlain with muscle. She could probably bench press me. Her name is Tamara. She smiles... all the time, even when she worries, making up the chalk board that spells out how each "share" will be measured. "This week's share is going to be small and limited in variety," she says with a smile. Then, "I hope we have enough IPM berries, I hate to spend too much of the fruit budget early in the season and then be short when we get into August." She smiles. Later, "Marblehead won't have snap peas this week, hopefully we'll make up for it with strawberries and more peas next week, the Danvers farm told me they will pick strawberries and peas twice this week." This time she flashes an excited smile!

I work... unloading 30 pound tubs of spinach, two tubs to Melrose on truck B, two tubs to Salem go on Truck A, three tubs stay here. Oh, the spinach is a beautiful sight to see. Perfect green leaves, young, just picked hours ago, organic of course, little grains of nice clean dirt clinging on the underside. Spinach is my favorite vegetable. I think of spring spinach, sauteed with olive oil and garlic, then tossed with angle hair pasta and toped with sun dried tomatoes and feta cheese. I wish I had eaten that donut before I left the house.  Then the strawberries leave the truck! I wonder if anyone would notice if I stick my face in a quart basket! I wish my hands were not so dirty, I would sneak a few dozen in my mouth. I DID NOT BUY A SHARE. What was I thinking! There is so much of everything! 

I continue to work... 19 flats here, 15 there, 12 over there, radishes, salad turnips, and the lettuce, 16 tubs in all. Bok choy 18 tubs, and bottles of liquid fish fertilizer. The herb plants arrive! I weigh out shares and make up bags for those who are unable to pick up. The hope is that members of the co-op will "co-operate" and help by offering to deliver these bags.

The tiny stick of dynamite named Tamara rolls her eyes and smiles. "It's always a challenge to get these bags delivered. Sometimes we are right down to the wire and three or four bags are still waiting for someone to take them."  Dilemma! My commitment to do what ever needed to be done. I try biting my tongue to no avail. "I will deliver them when I leave," says I. "Most of the drops are between here and my house." It suddenly occurs to me that the depot is as far away from my house as possible and still be in the same town. Instead of politely arguing that I should only take some of them, she flashes that smile. You know the one... if you look 'grateful smile' up in the dictionary, you'll see a picture of Tamara!   

Arrangements are made for any left over produce to go to My Brothers Table.  The trucks going to the other depots depart with their bounty. I stop for a minute and survey what I thought was going to be an abundance of produce. I have seen the long membership list. One picnic table holds all the lettuce and spinach. The tubs look small. One picnic table holds the turnip, bok choy, radishes. A half sheet of plywood on saw horses holds the berries. The plants, "herb share" sit on the ground. Is that all there is? The poor souls at My Brothers will not be sharing much of this 'bounty.' Well, maybe next week.

The parking lot is filling up. It's 3:00PM. I've been working about two and a half hours. I've got about an hour of running around town to do the deliveries. That two day old donut is calling me! Tamara must have heard my stomach growl because she offers me a snap pea, a sample of what the other smaller depots got this week. They are wonderful! Even with a fine coating of good clean grit. I thank her and say goodbye. She smiles "Don't forget to come back at 6:15," she says.

I forgot. Of course she will need some help at the end of the day. Tents to put away, tables to break down, everything that's out must get put into the storage shed for next week. Baskets, scales, empty bins, berry baskets.

"Oh, sure, I'll be here," I respond.

"Don't forget to bring some bags," she says. I must have looked as puzzled as I was. "For leftovers, you can help yourself to anything that's here."

I look again at the long line of members, smiling, weighing, stuffing spinach and strawberries into their earth-friendly bags, and then at the very short tables with dwindling natural wonders. My vision of the 'harvest' is limited as I look at the crowd. I recognize some of them from a few years back. It's a beautiful day. I have met and worked with some lovely people. I have supported a way of life that I believe in. I have supported people whose friendship I value.  I've had a great physical work out; I'm tired, warm, and dirty. I feel great.

Three towns and a stale donut later, I arrive back at the depot with a brown paper bag and expectations of another hour's work and a couple of turnips (for which I will be grateful). After all, I am trying to learn what 'enough' means. There are new faces on the volunteers helping to break down tables, taking down canopy tents, loading left over plants into the back of a van.

On one table are the 'leftovers':

Tamara smiles... "Just help yourself to anything that's there," she says. The lady from My Brothers Table smiles as she loads boxes into the back of her car. I think of loaves and fishes.

I help myself to a grocery bag stuffed full of spinach. I help myself to a quart of strawberries. I think of abundance. I think about what is enough. I smile.

That evening it took me more than four hours to wash, rinse, pick over, trim and bag the spinach. Next week I am going to meditate on the meaning of "too much." 

Mary Franklin has spent more than 25 years directing new business development and marketing in the building industry. She is currently a student and contributor at The Prosperity Institute's Universal Sales Training Series held at the Cummings Center in Beverly and she enjoys her personal life coaching practice as The Listening Lady.