Marin Organics

After a visit with a friend this morning I'm thinking I might have too much time on my hands and should get a second job. Or something. My friend was full of excitement for new work she is doing using EMT and talked on about this afternoon when she would be experimenting with observing people's brainwaves generated onto a laptop as they were instructed to think about different experiences.

It was all very interesting and near the end of our time together, after I wouldn't prematurely scare her off, I wondered if brainwaves would be affected by eating small farm local foods versus industrially farmed foods and started collecting food for her to take home to experiment with.

"Here," I said, handing her a bag of strawberries. "I bought them this morning. They are grown in Tomales by a man who has lived there all his life. He looked serious until I mentioned the warm ginger scones I had in Pt. Reyes from the Tomales Bakery." She nodded. I went on, "And then he would have talked all day with the customers lining up down the center aisle if someone hadn't interrupted. His smile was as big as the berries," I finished.

"You have to have an apple," I insisted. She took a step closer to the door. "They're grown in Novato. Red gravensteins. First of the season. The man wears a dusy hat. Needs a haircut but smiles with everything he's got."

"And an onion. Here have an onion." My enthusiasm was growing. "These are from Rumsey. Near Davis. I don't know if they are organic but this guy was so cute," I continued. "He was a like a sunflower with dimples."

I looked around for more. "These are from Novato too," I picked up a pear but sensed I was loosing her. "A fig? Do you need a fig?" I didn't want to stop. "These are the only figs on the market right now. I buy them every week."

She had her hand on the door knob. "Thank you," she said, pulling the door open. "I think this will be enough."

I refused to be stopped. I held out a potato. "Petaluma. Yukon Gold. Spring Hill Road."

She started down the stairs. "Bye," she said. "I'll call and let you know how it goes."

"The farmer has a goatee and ...." She wound the corner and was out of sight.

"And he's really nice," I said to myself.

I'm not sure if I'll hear back from her or not.