When I was younger, I desperately wanted to live on a farm. I didn’t share this dream with many, partially because I had absolutely no explanation why. I loved my city. I hated waking up early. I don’t like corn. I’ve never been particularly into manure.
But still, every time that I cruised by cornfields, I fantasized about farming.
I’ve since realized that my future is probably not in farming. I finally learned that farming is hard work. It requires waking up with the roosters and cleaning up after cows. You can’t exactly wear a plaid shirt and pigtails and perfect the part.
I do still, however, fantasize about farming often. Once a week, in fact. One of my favorite thing to do in Des Moines is visit the Farmer’s Market. I could roam around for hours, talking to the farmers, petting plenty of dogs and trying plenty more samples. You smile. You socialize. You share with strangers.
I didn’t know Farmer’s Markets existed when I was younger, but I think that the Farmer’s Market environment was what I always envisioned. A place where you can pick produce that’s literally just been picked, while also talking to someone that you would never approach on the street. Eating without examining a nutrition label. Getting to taste anything you can put on a toothpick.
When it’s over, you can go back home–stuffed, satisfied, and sans manure.