Common Ground
I had planned to write about plums this week. It’s the season and this year they seem to be extra delicious. But that will have to wait after the events of last Sunday at the Bethesda market.
Patrons have no idea of how much their farmers look forward to our market days. Not only a time for us to do business, but a trip to the city offers a chance to interact with others, be they customers or vendors, to get a different bite to eat away from our norms, and even a chance to clean up instead of being covered in the grime that agriculture brings.
But when I rolled into the school parking lot last week I was met by the police and lots of long faces.
What the…..? And then I saw the graffiti. Not the typical juvenile gang tagging, but some seriously raw hate speech. It continued from the entrance and was splattered throughout the pavement, including in front of my own stand.
As I unpacked and set up I noticed other vendors and market staff blotting out the words with chalk, some even going so far as to draw colorful hearts over the paint. The morning vibe was subdued.
Listen, I get there are some very complicated and ugly things happening in the world right now. But the reality is as a farmer and market vendor I’ve got customers and friends on both sides of the conflicts leaving me squarely in step with our favorite humanitarian chef who doesn’t take sides, but simply feeds people.
No one at the farmers market is going to turn away someone because of their faith, ethnicity, race, sexual orientation, or social status. We feed everyone. If someone gets tossed from the market it’s because they’re rude and don’t follow the rules.
I am a firm believer that only our children can resolve the conflicts of today as long as they are not ingrained with the same hate and prejudices. Writing divisive graffiti at an elementary school is no way to even begin to overcome the issues that lead to the vandalism in the first place.
Don’t believe me? Take a good look at what’s been happening in agriculture. It’s rarely the grandparents or parents who change from chemical-dependent industrial commodity agriculture to regenerative direct-marketing practices. I’ve seen families torn apart because the older generation entrenched in their beliefs refuses to pass on to the farm because their progeny wants to change to something their view as being better.
For once I was grateful that many of the regulars (including vendors) were on vacation last week and were subjected to the vandalism. Somehow the account in passing is not as disappointing as the actual experience. While not like the humorous interactions we all had with the illegally parked car last week, I’ve got to hand it to the community for quickly cleaning off the paint from the school’s entrance sign (it was completely restored by the time market was over) and for walking over the colorful splotches on the pavement, not assigning blame or outrage, all while shopping among other people who are vastly different.
Maybe if world leaders sat down to the dinner table together instead of a negotiating table they’d find that they have more in common that they previously thought and there would be less cause for the words written in ignorance, frustration, and anger.