- The Plate
Beautiful Food, Beloved Farmers: Here’s to the Hands That Plant the Seeds
The kind of quiet filled with the rhythmic chirps of small insects, lowing cows, and grass folding forward, sweeping past our knees.
We fill wooden baskets with squash: butternut, spaghetti, and long-necked yellow squash. “We have to hurry before the market opens.” We haul the bushels to the truck.
Dad takes out a long knife and hacks open a green-striped melon. He passes me a wedge about the size of my face. “Breakfast,” he says. I sink my teeth into the red, watery flesh. It’s sweet and full of flavor. “Come on,” he says, “we’ve got to go get tomatoes now.”
My dad is a small family farmer. He sells produce at the local farmers’ market in an area surrounded by miles and