My CSA makes me super excited — but also it reminds me of my mortality
I overthought what Community Supported Agriculture means to me.
When I lost my jobs last summer, like dominoes falling one-by-one, I immediately called to cancel my CSA subscription, which delivers veggies from Moon Valley Farm to my front door. It seemed like the first thing that had to go. I know fresh vegetables aren’t frivolous, but I could get them cheaper elsewhere, and needed to at that point. Once I realized how dire our financial situation was, I canceled all of my subscriptions and memberships, except for cable, because I knew it’d be a long, hard, broke winter — and it was!
But I’m so thrilled that as, of this week, I am a Moon Valley Farm CSA member again. It’s a very cool, (I think single) mom-owned local enterprise with a great Instagram. I’m a little too thrilled about this development and decided to dive really, really deep into that feeling. I found as I was writing this essay that the CSA is both a badge of honor and a reminder that I will be dead one day.
What is a CSA, you may ask? Community Supported Agriculture offers consumers a way to get fresh produce and other stuff like eggs and honey directly from a farm to their tables.
I am a neurotic child of liberal parents who switched to organic milk the second I moved on my own, so my excitement about a CSA is not much of a surprise. When I was single well into my 30s, I was out and about way too much to make joining one worthwhile. But I always wanted to be settled enough to afford being a CSA member and stable enough to regularly eat carrots with dirt from my region on them.
I reached that point when I moved into a house in the suburbs three years ago. I joined and was like, THIS IS MY REWARD! I guess it was my reward for settling down and moving to the burbs? I’m not sure, but for some reason it felt like a reward. I’m like proud I made it to a point where I can actually make a CSA work in my life — makes me feel like a real adult — but also somehow incredibly sad that the highlight of my week is CSA van driving up to my house.
Middle age is weird like that.
By nature, the CSA’s fruit and vegetables and eggs and honey are a reminder of the fragility of life and our environment, the changing seasons and thus the sharp and brutal passing of time. It felt like I waited forever with so much anticipation to land this sedate lifestyle, but it’s one that I’ve found more challenging than I ever imagined. I ask myself a lot: I grew up in the suburbs, shouldn’t this be easy? But as Ryan says, you can’t turn an alley cat to a house cat. I mean you can, but it’s not going to be without some bumps. And for me, there are bumps.
Then I wonder: What’s next? Is there a stage of life next that I’m looking forward to, a quirky CSA-like reward for the future? I guess that’s why people romanticize retirement.
CSA are like fancy grocery stores on wheels. And fancy grocery stores, pre-Bezos Whole Foods included, are akin to heaven on earth for me. I love the preciousness of the food, the prepared meals, the way everything smells nice, is in small portions that are presented with care. It’s a stupid marketing classist fantasy that 100% works on me. It gives the feeling that little pretty things are important, that you can curate your life. It feels like power, and that’s relaxing.
I believe the CSA is an adjacent fantasy — it inspires the idea that we are responsible, stable, taking good care of our bodies, and that will give us the power to control our health in better years ahead. It’s the hope in the fantasy that keeps us going during these boring but stressful middle aged days as we feel our bodies slowly start to not work as well. It helps to feel like there’s something better down the pipeline.
On a lighter note, one wonderful thing about my CSA (I sound insane, I know) is that they now let you (God love ‘em) swap out things you won’t eat for things you maybe won’t eat on the website. Like if I already have radishes begging to be eaten in the fridge and I see more coming down the pipeline, I can swap them for spinach that may or may not survive until it ends up in a soup. So, there’s a bit of a feeling of control and retail therapy in their CSA experience. Their online farmer’s market is also a boon for my mental health.
I feel like I’m doing my very tiny part for the planet, and that also feels good. When you’re raised to value service and the environment, that’s what gives you purpose and gives you a hit of dopamine from something not inherently thought of as pleasurable. I learned recently when my super shy 7-year-old did karaoke in public that if you’re raised with something as normal, anything can be normal.