Saturday, February 2, 2013

We got these oranges, they're great.  Ann, wait til you see them.  They look dirty.  It's like someone drives down to Florida every year- like they know where this tree is.  And wait til you taste them.  They're so good, I mean, sweet and juicy.  They're great.  You want some? You should take some, you'll love them.

When I was in 2nd grade at the Montessori World of Children, my good friend and I decided we would be pigs while we waited for our mothers to fetch us from school.  It made perfect sense- we were good friends who had recently discovered that pigs were both of our favorite animals. It had rained that day, which had created a mud puddle very close to our picking-up spot.  Perfect for us, because we were pigs and pigs love mud.  So we sat in the mud puddle, rubbing our faces and arms with mud galore, and oinking contentedly; until our teacher found us, and we were thoroughly scolded.   You can't sit in the mud and rub it all over yourself.  Your mother is not going to be happy when she picks you up.  You'll make the car dirty.  Try and clean some of this off.

But we're pigs, I responded.  And my mother won't care.  My mother loves dirt.   (Plus, our car's already dirty)

 I recently told this story at the dinner table after the conversation had moved to elementary school.  Three seats down, my mother was telling another:  When I would pick them up from school, there was this mother.  She was crazy.  She had these baby wipes.  In her car.  And she'd whip them out and wipe down her entire child before they'd be allowed in the car.  I mean, the shoes and everything.  Why? Because they're that dirty?  I mean, what's wrong with dirt?  I love dirt. 

And that was before we'd moved to a farm.  This family wisdom has been passed down to me: dirt is good.  And dirty food is better.   That's how you know it's (real) good....

Alexzanna Farm market sign, summer 2011