A question of convenience

In July I joined the food co-op Suzie Lerma with Sol Food Market set up. When I first heard there was a co-op, I wasn't sold on the idea but wanted to support Suzie and her efforts to provide our small town with wholesome, organic and healthy foods.

I had never been a member of a co-operative and really wasn't too sure what it meant. Nor had I ever made a conscious effort to consume seasonal produce. I was fairly aware that some of our supermarket foods travel tremendous distances - like grapes from Chile and spinach from Mexico - and I had started limiting my purchases to items grown only in the western states. But I was fascinated with the idea of consuming produce based on season and locale.

A co-op, I read, is when consumers pool their resources together and share in the benefits. With our co-op we pay a monthly fee which funds the time, effort and costs in ordering and obtaining produce each week. In return, we receive wholesale pricing on locally grown, seasonal and (mostly) organic produce. We are also expected to share in the work load. Only one hour per month. So, on a Tuesday, I joined three other members to sort through fresh produce and put together orders. Working side-by-side in the cool space of Sol Food's walk-in refrigerator I began to connect with these other members in my community and the food I was taking home. A connection with food I hadn't experienced since high school when I went to our garden to pick tomatoes, lettuce and cucumbers for our evening meal.

This got me interested. A little research revealed the importance of having local food available. I found out that yields from organic farms are equal to the yields of conventional farming - e.g., farms using pesticides. That farmer's markets and co-op's support what are considered small farm operators - those with under $250,000 in sales per year. And that small farm operators make up 94% of farms in the United States. Also, through farmer's markets and co-op's - low income families have access to fresh, organic and healthy foods.

Perhaps most interesting is the trend and growing desire to obtain fresh products. The number of farmer's markets has increased each year since 1995. This urban/farm linkage provides people with a connection to their food source and personal interaction. Not to mention it's a source of income and allows farmers to stay in the business of farming. I was curious so I asked Suzie if I could join her on one of her weekly trips to purchase produce for the co-op.

She invited me to tag along on her Tuesday route: Five hours from start to finish. We left Big Bear at noon with the goal of arriving in Upland no earlier than 1:30 p.m. to meet Doug and purchase 48 bottles of raw milk. Because raw milk is strictly regulated, there are only two dairies in California allowed to sell it and both are located in Northern California. Doug drives north on Monday afternoons, picks up the raw milk from the dairy and returns to Southern California. He drives all night so he can deliver the product fresh to his customers the following day. Because his route doesn't take him anywhere near Big Bear, the all cash deal takes place in Doug's driveway - a ubiquitous neighborhood of three-car garage homes with views of the San Gabriel Mountains.

With the milk on ice we drive east towards Redlands, making a quick stop at Clarks - a whole food store in Loma Linda. After purchasing a few hard-to-find items for the co-op we cut through the rolling hills that run parallel to the 10 freeway. A canyon framed by sun scorched hills leads us past a series of farms. The temperature is in the nineties and you can see the heat rising from the pavement. Crossing railroad tracks we follow a single dirt lane past a mobile home and a trio of barking dogs. The road ends at a concrete hacienda with a broad porch shaded by two oak trees. Behind the home, several acres of farm head off toward the hills.

The farmer, also named Doug, ducks under a clothes line of white cotton tee-shirts and greets us. He tells me he has another 20 acres down the road. Though he farms most of it he leases a few acres to other growers. In a cool room Suzie and Doug get down to business - sorting through sweet, red and russet potatoes, green, red and yellow bell peppers, melons and cantaloupes and a box of cucumbers. Suzie picks the vegetables she wants handing back those that are over ripe. Doug hands us two Israeli Melons to take home and sample. I wander outside with Benji - Suzie's seven-month-old son - to view the crops. The smell of dirt is heavy in the air and a tractor sits ready in the middle of a field. I learn that Doug also supplies produce to Wolfgang Puck's chain of restaurants in West Los Angeles, participates in the Farm to School Program and sells his fruits and vegetables at a number of large markets in Los Angeles and Ventura counties.

The earthen aroma is intense in the car as we drive highway 38 back to Big Bear. During the ride our conversation is easy: We discuss the importance of obtaining our foods locally and the environmental sustainability of organic farming. We talk about the deep connection we feel when you know the farmer who tilled the land, planted the crops and picked the food. That relationship we miss when we settle for the convenience of a large grocery store. While I still shop at Vons, I purchase my produce from Sol Food. I'm sold on the concept Suzie introduced - not because it is cheaper than the alternative but because it is the better alternative. Plus I have a deep connection with the food I eat - I've met Doug and I want him to continue to farm his land and provide for his family.

Over the Handle Bars

I LOVE mountain biking. It is a sport I never thought I would pursue. When I lived in Los Angeles I was a triathlete and preferred my road bike. I couldn't understand why anyone would ride dirt. It's much harder than riding smooth pavement. The bikes are heavier and the downhill a bit scary. Then I moved to the mountains.

Looking for a spin class one May morning, a local instructor said, "It's nice out - we don't ride indoors anymore." I was intriqued. "Do you have a bike?" she asked. "Yes, I do," was my response. I met her and four other girls at 5:30 a.m. at the Triangle in Fawnskin. We rode Grout Bay. It was almost magical, the light illuminated the wild flowers that lined either side of the trail. The ride was equal parts laughter and hard work. And even though the mountain bike I owned was a rusty, 36 pound, nine-year old Haro with an inch of travel, I still had a good time. Six weeks later, on my 40th birthday I bought a hardtail Specialized Stump Jumper. Then I dragged my boyfriend out on a rental bike and showed him how much fun it was. He was hooked and bought a Cannondale hardtail with a Lefty fork.

These last three summers have been about exploring the trails in my community. Meeting for early morning rides and developing friendships that will last a lifetime. My riding abilities have also improved. I rarely ever fall. Except for these last two weeks: My first was impressive. I sailed over my handle bars hitting a log drop. The log caught my chain ring and stopped my bike. I continued on, however, and scorpioned onto the trail with dirt the consistency of powdered sugar. I lay motionless, starfished in the center of the trail mentally scanning my body for injury. I felt only one rock jabbing at my right hip. Hearing another rider come down behind me, I reluctantly moved to the side. Covered in dirt I tried to brush it off - I couldn't. I wore it like a badge of honor as I climbed up yet another fire road for one more descent. Get back in the saddle, right? It took two showers to remove every particle but otherwise I was fine.

My second fall was stupid. I was crusing a relatively easy trail thinking how lucky I was to live in such close proxmity to great mountain biking when my front tire was swallowed by soft sand. As my bike went right, my body flew left. I let out a yelp before I hit - vocalizing the reality of my landing: Two very sharp rocks. My knee cap took one while my shin took the other. Though I couldn't walk for a couple of minutes, I did recover and rode back to my car. It has made teaching yoga a bit challenging this week and added to the army of scars I have accumulated since taking up the sport. But, again, I was fine.

Overall I am glad I fall. While I am not happy about the bruises or the pain - neither are permanent. Much like when we have challenging issues arise in our daily lives. It's hard to remember that even though the 'bruises' and 'pain' are still visible and palpable they aren't permanent. And this, I believe, is a really good thing. It allows us to learn and come that much closer to the essence of our true selves.