Thirty-eight crates. Eleven farms. Forty kilometres, at most.A grocer where the crates are the shelves and the chalk is the price. Whatever came in this morning is what's for sale. Whatever didn't, isn't.
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crates. Empty by close, refilled by seven. That's the whole inventory system.
farms. All named on the chalk. Most of them come in the van themselves.
furthest farm. Anything further isn't ours to sell.
plastic. Paper, string, your own bag, or the crate if you're buying the crate.
Nothing is unpacked into a display. The crate it came in is the display, and when it's empty, so is the space. Empty crates by four are the point, not the problem.
Walk in, take a box, or sit at the table. The produce is the same. The difference is how much choosing you want to do.
Pick from what's there. Ask what to do with it. The person at the scale grew some of it.
Eight to twelve things, a note saying where each came from and one idea for dinner. No swaps. That's the box.
Dinner from the day's crates. Three courses. You'll eat the thing you didn't buy at ten that morning.
Every crate has the farm's name and the time it came in. Here are five of them, and what they bring.
Forty boxes a week, Thursdays, collected from the shop or left with the neighbour you name. Tell us how many of you eat and whether anyone hates beetroot. Someone always does.
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