Chapter 5

I farmed, and sold in a market on the outskirts of the high end section of the nearest town. My customers were doctors, lawyers, bored housewives, people with money, usually. They were nice people despite being well to do, and most were concerned enough to ask questions about how the food was produced, and how fresh it was. I had a core group that pretty much wiped me out every week, but this particular Saturday it was raining pretty hard, and it was an outdoor market. I only sold about half my product, and realized the rest would be going to a soup kitchen I supported. I always gave a portion of my vegetables to them anyway, my attempt at being a good citizen.

I was taking the short way home, going through the ‘bad’ section of town when I blew a tire. Cursing under my breath, I pulled under the shelter of a defunct minimart. It took me a while to move my produce out of the way to get to my spare, and I had it scattered about as I hurried to change the flat. Bad neighborhood, remember?

I was just letting the jack down when I heard a small, wavering voice.

“Them collard greens?”

I looked up to see a tiny black woman, guessing her to be sixty or better, looking at the basket.

“Yes ma’am, that and some kale thrown in. Do you like collards?”

“I love them,” she sighed, “but I ain’t had no fresh ones in years. Almost forgot what they look like.”

Looking back, you realize that often your life pivots on the smallest of things. A chance meeting and a random act of kindness that day led to where I am now.

“Would you like some? You can have them, the market is over, I’m stuck with them and it would make me feel better, knowing they went to someone who could appreciate them.”

It shocked me when tears sprang from her eyes, and she looked like she was going to faint. I grabbed her, and sat her in the passenger seat of my truck.

“You all right? Do I need to call someone?”

“I’ll be fine in a minute, son. It’s just that you don’t see a lot of kindness in this place, especially from strangers. Are you a Samaritan?” She had a little smile on her face.

I grinned back. “No ma’am. I’m a Baptist, but I remember something about casting bread on the waters. The offer stands; you can have all you want.”

“What else you got?”

I uncovered the basket of carrots, the spring onions, the heads of buttercrunch lettuce, the loose lettuce for salads, and another basket of mixed greens.

She just looked for a minute, then asked for my phone. She made three calls. Ten minutes later I was surrounded by older black and Hispanic women, all talking excitedly. Twenty minutes later, everything I had was gone, a line of ladies clutching bags like they held gold.

They all thanked me and I asked them why they didn’t just buy produce from the grocery stores. The woman I met first explained.

“We ain’t got no grocery store. The last one left ten years ago, after being robbed one time too many. We have to ride the bus twenty-four blocks to get to the closest one, and they don’t like our business much. They follow us around like we’re gonna steal. And you can’t get much at a time, not and carry it on a bus. You breaking down here is like a gift from God.”

It hit me what a captive market this could be. I asked her if she thought I could sell if I showed up the next Saturday. Instead of being happy she frowned. “You could bring three times what you had today and go home empty in three hours. But this is a bad neighborhood, white boy, like you would stick out like a sore thumb. Wouldn’t take long for the homeboys to notice you. I wouldn’t if I was you.”

I drove her the three blocks to her home, offered to help carry her stuff, but she thanked me, yelled at a couple of ten year old boys that were hanging around, and handed them the bags. I thanked her for her business.

“I’ll be here next Saturday at eight, same place. Spread the word.”

She looked at me and finally smiled. “God bless you, boy. I hope you know what you’re getting into.”

She got my number, and I went home feeling good. She called me the next Wednesday. “You take EBT?”

EBT cards were the next generation of food stamps. I didn’t, but there was an app I could get, and a scanner to use on my smartphone. “I will by Saturday.”

“If you could come on Friday it would be better, We all get our cards then, and it goes pretty fast. I got a lot of neighbors wanting to see what you got.”

Friday worked even better for me; that way I could make my regular market and keep all my customers happy. I worked four ten-hour days so it would work. I told her it would have to be afternoons and I would be there at two.