Market Loyalty

Last night I had dinner with the muse.

"I've been going to the farmers' market," she confides. "But I feel bad when I walk by a farmer and no one is buying anything from them."

I shake my head. Take another bite of pizza.

"So this week I bought flowers from the woman that wasn't selling anything. But they weren't as alive as the ones I usually buy."

I couldn't help but laugh. "It's like me buying the orphan winter squash."

"Exactly," she nearly yells. "I never have this problem at the grocery store." There's a moment when it looks as if she will throw her napkin at me for complicating her life.

And I know what she's talking about. I have a regular egg farmer that knows I want the jumbos and that I'll have an empty carton or two to return from my canvas bag. We recently compared notes after each having the flu. We talk about the farm.

But now there's a new egg farmer on the market. And the eggs are pastured closer to home. But if I buy those eggs I'll be cheating. I'll be scum.

The muse is right, shopping was easier at the grocery store when all I did was swipe the credit card and let the money be disbursed to faceless corporations with industrially fertilized bottom lines. The roots of my loyalty didn't run deep.

Now I look the people holding the bottom line in the eye. I hand them cash. I care about them.

Which makes it damn hard not to bring home an occasional orphan or buy eggs somewhere else.