Posted: Jun 3, 08 7:15am

This past Sunday my girlfriend and I jumped into the truck and drove out to Bridgewater, New Jersey. It was a perfect day, sunny with huge white clouds floating high in the sky, like an upside-down river.

I had located a farm online that sells beef, produce, chicken, and fresh eggs at their little farm store. We passed by the big Herefords grazing in the tall green grass. They stood by the road under the shade of a monstrous Sycamore, and I couldn’t help thinking this used to be a typical scene all over this country. Dirt roads, farms, fields, and horses pulling carriages through small towns where everyone knew one another.

We pulled into the dirt drive near the farm store, a kitten sat near an upturned wheelbarrow. We got out of the truck and the first thing I noticed was the quiet. There were birds chirping and I thought twice before shutting the door and ruining this moment. An older woman ambled toward us from the farm house, the kitten stood and stretched. It began to dawn on us then that this was now the exception to what was normal. The huge expanse of asphalt for grocery store parking was replaced by dirt and grass. The air smelled of clover and damp soil.

We watched the woman approach and lean against the opposite side of a battered split rail fence.

After explaining to her we had just wanted to locate the farm for future reference, she invited us into the store.

The interior was musty smelling, it reminded me of the way our summer cottage smelled when it was first opened after a long winter.

I bought two dozen eggs for five dollars and I felt I’d have paid double just for this experience. The cash register was literally a cigar box. The floor was unstable. The planks were wide and dirty; there was some dry straw near the base of the refrigerator. Prices for different cuts of beef were scrolled across cardboard in black marker.

I didn’t want to leave and I tried to think of ways to stay. There was a certain tonic to this place. I held the eggs as the woman explained what would available in a month or so. Tomatoes, yellow squash, and zucchini were in the ground, corn would be ready in late July or August.

We thanked her and stepped out into the bright sun. The kitten was gone and a bee was bothering my girlfriend. I sat in the truck and pulled the door closed. I realized all that was missing. There were no aisles, no music; the eggs were in a paper bag. There was no polished linoleum and air conditioning. On a gut level, everything was as close to magic as it could be. But the most amazing thing was just plain reality, the dirt, the air, the simplicity of a farm, and escape to what used to be.

At some point under the guise of progress we ceded all of this. To a certain percentage of the population, this experience might seem surreal. I think also, there is a sentiment evolving concerning health and wellness. A lot of people I talk to understand personal wellbeing has got to be their own responsibility. They read, research, and don’t listen to everything they hear on TV or the radio. My girlfriend and I talked about this on the way back home, and it felt good to think about the future.

If you get the chance, try to visit a farm sometime this summer and I guarantee you’ll fall under the spell of what used to be.

To your health.

Graham