I pull open the kitchen cabinet to an avalanche of brown, plastic Kroger bags. I can’t throw them away but instead save them with the intention of bringing them back to the store to recycle. Each week, I remember my stash only after I pass the collection bin in the front Kroger entry.
In the last week, I receive an email asking for bags. But who? Think. Think. Think.
I stuff the bags into the open mouth of one and tie the plastic handles to prevent the bags from spilling out. I look at the clock. The school bus arrives in thirty minutes. It’s enough time.
I grab the car keys from the top of the piano, wave goodbye to the dogs and jump in the car. I drive the mile or so to Finn Meadows Farm slowing down when I hit the dirt road to the farmhouse.
I pass the newly planted apple trees on my right, the barn on my left. Black and white hens peck at the ground. A hound dog barks when I park near the garage door.
The door hangs opens so I run in and drop the bags on the worn, folding table that holds supplies for weekly CSA members to use for weekly vegetable pickup.
Back in the car, I arrive home with ten minutes to spare.