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oh rochester, so much to answer for
Jul. 30th, 2005 05:52 pmThe hot, hot nights have died off now, leaving an all-too-pleasant cool breeze. The hot nights were intolerable, but they were delicious.
* * *
Going to the Public Market is one of my favorite co-op chores. Going with Ben is particularly fine. For him, interacting with the sellers is part of the experience. Get the farmers talking and it's six times as entertaining. Where's the farm? How was this grown? We bought blueberries from Rush, we bought green peppers from Scottsdale. Those melons are from New Jersey? No, I think we'll pass. We buy apples from Sodus bay, tomatoes from Oswego. Chicken eggs from Buffalo, sharp chedder cheese from a New York State dairy. One farmer hesitates a little in his speech; Ben tentatively asks, "Habla español?" and then launches into Spanish. Those wares are from Medina. Are these local? Ben asks. Where's the farm? Look for the license plate says the man, pointing at his truck, the plate stamped AGRICULTURE. "We can only take this truck out 200 miles.. Right here, we're 30 miles from the farm." Ask, Are these Organic, and the farmers say, No, but this is what I used and why. Not everythingwe buy is grown here, of course: we buy bananas from Ecuador or from Mexico. Sometimes we indulge in South Carolina peaches. Being in control of our supply lines feels empowering—we could go visit that farm where our vegetables came from, the factory where the tofu was made. And it's cheap, too: a fridgefull of fruits and vegetables, cheese and eggs cost us $30 this week.
* * *
We stopped in at Second Life Bikes, an "Urban Bike Ministry" head up for the summer by our friend Andrew Hall of the Ecohouse.
A line of kids and adults sat and stood and milled about outside, like bees gathering outside a hive. They were waiting for bikes. Every few minutes a happy kid would ride off on a new bike, fresh off the (re-)assembly line.
Inside was indeed a hive of activity, a frenzied Millenium-Falcon engineering effort to assemble and distribute a hundred good and working bicycles from discards.
A more inspiring thing has not recently been seen.
* * *
Meanwhile, two blocks away, a kid was shot in the street.
* * *
Critical Mass yesterday was critical but not quite so massive. Twelve riders out in the city streets. We were finally listed in the City Newspaper (although I still haven't been able to find the reference myself) and gained one rider that way. When Andrew and I email about it, it's just the 'Mass. One of those rituals that keeps you alive.
After the ride, I supped on Chinese at hole-in-the-wall He's. Then I set out again, powering down the city streets, gliding down the geodesics of the urban fabric. Arms out, flying. Down by the railroad tracks, out West Main, unexplored territory, watching the freight-trains go by, listening to the glistening sound of metal-on-metal, and thinking, "Rochester, Surprise Me."
* * *
Going to the Public Market is one of my favorite co-op chores. Going with Ben is particularly fine. For him, interacting with the sellers is part of the experience. Get the farmers talking and it's six times as entertaining. Where's the farm? How was this grown? We bought blueberries from Rush, we bought green peppers from Scottsdale. Those melons are from New Jersey? No, I think we'll pass. We buy apples from Sodus bay, tomatoes from Oswego. Chicken eggs from Buffalo, sharp chedder cheese from a New York State dairy. One farmer hesitates a little in his speech; Ben tentatively asks, "Habla español?" and then launches into Spanish. Those wares are from Medina. Are these local? Ben asks. Where's the farm? Look for the license plate says the man, pointing at his truck, the plate stamped AGRICULTURE. "We can only take this truck out 200 miles.. Right here, we're 30 miles from the farm." Ask, Are these Organic, and the farmers say, No, but this is what I used and why. Not everythingwe buy is grown here, of course: we buy bananas from Ecuador or from Mexico. Sometimes we indulge in South Carolina peaches. Being in control of our supply lines feels empowering—we could go visit that farm where our vegetables came from, the factory where the tofu was made. And it's cheap, too: a fridgefull of fruits and vegetables, cheese and eggs cost us $30 this week.
* * *
We stopped in at Second Life Bikes, an "Urban Bike Ministry" head up for the summer by our friend Andrew Hall of the Ecohouse.
A line of kids and adults sat and stood and milled about outside, like bees gathering outside a hive. They were waiting for bikes. Every few minutes a happy kid would ride off on a new bike, fresh off the (re-)assembly line.
Inside was indeed a hive of activity, a frenzied Millenium-Falcon engineering effort to assemble and distribute a hundred good and working bicycles from discards.
A more inspiring thing has not recently been seen.
* * *
Meanwhile, two blocks away, a kid was shot in the street.
* * *
Critical Mass yesterday was critical but not quite so massive. Twelve riders out in the city streets. We were finally listed in the City Newspaper (although I still haven't been able to find the reference myself) and gained one rider that way. When Andrew and I email about it, it's just the 'Mass. One of those rituals that keeps you alive.
After the ride, I supped on Chinese at hole-in-the-wall He's. Then I set out again, powering down the city streets, gliding down the geodesics of the urban fabric. Arms out, flying. Down by the railroad tracks, out West Main, unexplored territory, watching the freight-trains go by, listening to the glistening sound of metal-on-metal, and thinking, "Rochester, Surprise Me."
