Auxiliary Notes: What Working a Farmers Market Taught Me
Don't store tomatoes in the fridge and idioms are often true.
In 2009, I left New York City for greener pastures in California. Literally! My return to the city is a story for another time, but when I left, I was completely burnt out—crispy, actually. A dehydrated, salty gal. Simply put, I was overworked. Despite loving my job, I knew I needed a change. After an intrepid road trip across the country in my adorable 1985 Volkswagen Rabbit, I arrived at an organic farm in Northern California with a proven work ethic, a love of plants, and a willingness to learn. All in pursuit of living a life that was 180 degrees from NYC.
You’ve probably heard of Wwoofing. That’s basically what I was doing. I volunteered my time for a small stipend to work on an organic farm and learn how things worked. I slept in a tent for six months, with an owl overhead most nights. There are many stories from my time on the farm, but today I want to talk about my work at the farmer’s markets.
