A Bestselling Book, A Flat Tire, And Remembering What Really Matters

As I type, I’m broken down on a side street in Alexandria, Virginia, a steel bolt the size of my thumb protruding from my front right tire. More than anything else, it reminds me of those metal diodes affixed to the side of Frankenstein’s neck: impossible to miss, and impossibly out of place. A blow-out like this exceeds my Jack-Of-All-Trades repair qualifications, so I’m waiting on a roadside service truck specially equipped to assist large vehicles. My customers are grateful for free-range eggs. I’m grateful for free-range repair men. It’s only 8:15 a.m., and I’m already drenched with sweat. To get to my final market I just borrowed a fruit vendor’s truck, backed it up to my disabled vehicle, and quickly wedged twenty-five 50-pound coolers of meat, eggs and pasta (along with my tents, tables and signs) between the boxes of peaches and plums. God bless our fellow farmer friends, bonds cultivated on lonely winter days when our conversation is the only thing filling the market. I rushed off to Arlington, a half hour late. As I hurriedly opened the back door my scale crashed to the asphalt, the plastic cracking cleanly as an eggshell and the batteries skittering across the pavement. I sighed, staring down at my own little Humpty Dumpty. I’ll now be using a .99 cent calculator to tally today’s purchases. Last week, NPR’s The Splendid Table named my farming book their #1 read of the summer, and tomorrow it will be featured on the front page of the L.A. T

All the grazing management tips you need

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