Reading E.B. White's 1941 essay "Freedom" today, I stumbled upon these lines: "Intuitively, I've always been aware of the vitallly important pact which a man has with himself, to be all things to himself, and to be identified with all things, to stand self-reliant, taking advantage of his haphazard connection with a planet, riding his luck, and following his bent with the tenacity of a hound."

One of the many things I like about this section of "Freedom" is its inconsistency.  I mean which is it, Elwyn?  Are you championing self-reliance here (being all things to yourself, standing self-reliant) or are you recognizing how radically vulnerable you are as one individual among trillions of individuals; and an example of one species among millions (identified with all things, connected with a planet, riding luck)?

Nowhere do I feel that inconsistency White describes above more than as I walk through a farmers' market. 

On one hand, self-reliance is everywhere in evidence at a farmers' market. I am greeted by stall after stall of people who successfully grow their own food.  Each spring they plant seeds or watch the receding snow for perennials to think their way up through loam as Jane Kenyon so memorably put the reappearance of rhubarb in "April Chores."  If the national food network shuts down for economic or political reasons, they are going to have a lot of new friends.  They know how to do practical stuff that I can afford to fail at.

On the other hand, there is nothing at the farmer's market to distract us from the fact that we need each other.  If I patronize one stand more frequently than another, one family might be forced out of farming, while another thrives.  Both of their dreams are valid, right?  So I better have a good argument about why I am buying my eggplant at one place and not at another.  I need to be able to defend my choices. 

I am not really as neurotic as I seem; sometimes an eggplant is just an eggplant. I lope from one stand to another, making will-o-the-wisp decisions about beans, greens, onions, and flowers.  The point here, though, is that I am much more likely to think about the consequences my purchases might have if I am at the farmers' market, where need, work and desire are everywhere on display, than if I am at the supermarket where I am hundreds of miles from the sources of my food.  At the supermarket, my choices can be more easily determined by marketers because so much of the food system is hidden.

Not coincidentally, the Menomonie Market elected to rent a booth at the farmers' market this August.  Andy (pictured above) helped sell market baskets, cookbooks, and refreshments.  By appearing at the market, Menomonie Market demonstrated its commitment to connecting its successful brand with the farmers' market.  The baskets and cookbooks were tools shoppers could use to take better advantage of the  goods on offer.  The cold drinks?  They were there to quench our thirst on those hot summer days. 

In this way, the Menomonie Market walked its talk, supporting the vendors and shoppers who help make western Wisconsin a more economically self-sufficient region every day. 

We exercise our freedom daily as we buy products and services, consume media and frequent certain venues while ignoring others.  These seem like petty freedoms compared to freedom of speech and association.  We do not have to be political dissidents in conflict with a police state, however, to understand that freedom which is not exercised is eventually lost. 

White's meditation on freedom was meant to get his readers thinking about their relationships with everything around them.  As I have come to appreciate, White was a sly writer, but he was anything but slight. He asserted his right to the smallness of his life because he took the idea of a microcosm seriously.  Small worlds do reflect big worlds; thoughtless choices result in unacceptable realities.

The marketplace has always been a crossroads of realities and ideas; it's always bustled and jostled us.  I am glad my co-op chooses to be where the messy democratic action lies.  I am glad my co-op chooses to plunk itself down in a place it does not want to see disappear.  My dream is that the farmers' market is twice as big in five years and that people feel they are missing something vital when they miss a week at the market.  For when they come, they make all of our connections to this planet a little less haphazard.