Plenty

I've finished reading Plenty, its full title a haiku --

Plenty, one man one
woman and a raucous year
of eating local

I refer to the authors, Alisa Smith and J.B. MacKinnon as the kids. "The kids stored their potatoes in a dresser drawer," I told the cute guy.

"Let's buy a dresser," he answered.

The book has been the reason I've been obsessed with finding local flour. I was only mildly curious before; I thought I could live without it. But the kids needed some flour to save their relationship and if they needed some, damn it, I needed some too.

Once I started the book, I raced through it. The chapters alternated between Alisa and J.B. and while I enjoyed each of their voices there were times J.B. became too bogged down in history for my taste. He was most alive in the field of his experience with current events. I could read him all day long then.

Alisa had a quieter voice with a gift to reflect with words a rhythm that had she attempted to consciously portray would have dissipated immediately. From her I sensed the inner journey of the year, felt the seasons in the pit of my own stomach.

I would have enjoyed their story, a young couple with a goal, roadblocks, adventures; the hero's journey times two, even if I wasn't eating local. As it was, I was entertained and educated.

And, I found local flour. It's grown in the Capay Valley by Full Belly Farm. The cute guy was all high fives when I told him. It wasn't until later, I was standing in the kitchen, alone, cleaning a flat of strawberries to freeze, that I realized I'm not a baker. Aside from Camille Kingsolver's Friday night pizza dough I don't do flour. But then Alisa wasn't really a cook when she began the 100 mile diet either and she didn't starve. I suspect I won't either.