I want to be a locavore. No, really. It’s a word. It’s new. Basically, a locavore is someone who wishes to reduce his or her carbon footprint and eat as many locally grown products as possible. I know, it sounds very green. Also you need to know that at some point the word green went from a Crayola crayon color to an eco-friendly movement. It does so happen to be my favorite color, too.
In my march to become a globally-aware, environmentally-friendly human I learned that buying locally grown fruits and vegetables are all the rage. It’s not just morally responsible; it’s also hip, chic, trendy and cool.
I was going native, in the best possible sense of the word. I was thrilled to learn that during the summer months there is a . I saw advertisements everywhere.
I was completely dismayed, however, when I arrived at Scott Park and found one card table with a bunch of produce strewn about. While I think it’s a wonderful farm stand, it is not a farmers market. My problem is in the syntax. One big table does not a farmers market make. That is akin to calling a bucket of water the ocean. It may have all the elements of the ocean, but it’s still just a bucket of water.
I kid because I love. I want an exceptional . To be fair, I arrived a little early. The rumor was that as many as eight vendors were scheduled to appear. That would be awesome.
In the meantime, there are . My favorite is on the Cecil/South Fayette border just off Route 50. It’s got all sorts of fun nibbles and noshes over there. There is a decent one in Greentree, also not far from my house, with one important caveat, I could walk to the (and I feel it’s important to put this in quotes, since it’s not really a real thing) “farmer’s market” in Scott. Thus, I would be able to realize my dream of reducing my carbon footprint.
I know it’s all arbitrary. I accidentally left my bedroom light and ceiling fan on all day. If Al Gore would have dropped by unexpectedly, he would have had to spank me (with the limb from a fallen timber in the woods behind my house).
I have to feel like I’m saving the planet in my head. Frankly, I also like the idea of not having to leave Lindsay Road for tomatoes, corn and zucchini.
Maybe my real problem stems from the fact that my car nearly gets clobbered at the Cochran Manor Giant Eagle almost every time I drive down there for pickles, popcorn or Pepsi. Do the blind drive at the Cochran Manor Giant Eagle? Sometimes I feel like I’m driving Wonder Woman’s invisible car (I know, it’s a plane, but if she can afford an invisible jet, surely she can have an invisible Hyundai, too). People just pull out right in front of me like I’m not even there. It’s a car…how can they not see me?
I guess I’m either going to have to grab a shovel and create my own garden, or start walking to the Giant Eagle. Boy, I sure hope they can see me when I’m walking.