So I’m driving home last night from yoga, in a dreamy state, and I pass the farm stand at high Meadows and can see from the road that it looks like they still have two boxes of what are doubtlessly the very very very last of the season fresh raspberries.
I go past, really not inclined to stop, but those raspberries…
The farmstand is an honor store: you pick your stuff, weigh it if necessary, look at the price list, add up your purchases (A bit problematical for me but they do have a Calculator sitting out), write down what you got on the yellow pad, and pay, making your own change out of the cashbox.
But last night, I couldn’t find the pad and pen. I remembered the raspberries were $4.50, and I also knew Howard Prussack was on Facebook.
Took a box of berries.
Dropped five bucks in the cashbox.
Helped myself to $.50 in change.
Came home and wrote Howard a PM on Facebook telling what I had done.
Had a late night snack of raspberries, Hawthorne farm yogurt, a little maple syrup from my neighbors, some good not too sweet granola.
How can one not love the world in which honor stores, Facebook communiqués, and raspberries all exist?