Harvesting memories: An ode to the humble farmstand

Is there anything that says summer quite like a farmstand? I sure don’t think so. Just this past the weekend, my family- husband Chuck and Penny the pup-  took a drive to Westmont to visit one of our favorite markets, The Farm. Every trip there always stirs up some of the sweetest memories. We used to bring my mother-in-law Jean along and we'd turn it into a whole afternoon affair with lunch and lots of visiting. Those times were special, and even though the memories are a bit bittersweet now, they're still ones I cherish.

I'll admit, I have let summer slip by without making it out to any of the many great farmers’ markets in and around Chicago. And now, with most of them closing in less than a month, it’s almost too late. There's something magical about picking out fresh fruits and veggies, and the people watching is off the charts. But more than that, I love what it all means. Our farmers are the backbones of the world and deserve our gratitude every single day.  

Growing up, we were surrounded by farms. My hometown of Dupo, Illinois, wasn't just a railroad town but also a farming community. In high school, we even had contests for the best-looking tractor and the rooster with the loudest crow. I miss my town but, more importantly, I miss the warmth and generosity of the hard-working people who called it home.

This weekend in the suburbs, I was reminded of all of this as I picked out beautiful homegrown tomatoes, watermelons, eggplants, peaches and more. All grown by people who respected the soil and knew what to do with it.

Going back to my computer in the city made me feel like a ne’er-do-well. Maybe this short, sweet story will let the farmers know how much I respect them and how deeply my fond memories are intertwined with their hard work.