And Then We Came To The End

The email in my in-box this morning took me by surprise: “Today will be our last CSA drop off for the year,” it said, followed by a terse “thank you for your participation,” and not much more.

Huh? Whaaaa? – or as I might say of I weren’t so very, very ladylike and well mannered: WTF???

What happened to all those gorgeous fall squashes I was looking forward to – the butternuts and acorns and who-remembers-what-else the farmers told us they were planting?

What happened to the promise of deliveries until “right before Thanksgiving”?

Deer happened, that’s what.

The deer that roam the farm have, apparently, been crashing the fences and eating everything besides the onions and potatoes. And more onions. And more potatoes… which is pretty much all we’ve gotten for the past few weeks, save for the occasional head of cabbage or tiny bunch of kale – which, when divided into the amount of money we spent to join the CSA are some very, very expensive green leaves.

Of course, this is exactly what my husband predicted when I told him I’d signed us up for the CSA early last summer.

He was right and I was wrong.

Luckily, he's not only smart but funny, and has already turned this whole thing into a story we'll be laughing at --or pretending to laugh at -- for years. But still, I'm pretty steamed. Yes, I understand that when you sign up for a CSA, your luck is tied directly to the farmers’. Rain wipes out the crops? The farm dudes are out of luck, and so are you. Early frost kills the first-planted seedlings? Better luck next year, CSA members; this is what it means to support a family farm. But really? They couldn’t figure out how to keep the deer out of the pumpkin patch? Sorry, pals, but I don’t think this ought to be my problem.

And yet, it is. That's how a CSA works -- or doesn't, as the case may be. Oh, well. As my mother says in Yiddish, we live and we learn.

So, to summarize, here are some of the things I learned this summer:

1. Steve was right and I was wrong.
2. No matter how much you love kale, you won’t want to eat it week after week.
3. Steve was right and I was wrong.
4. No matter how much you love your sister-in-law, you’ll eventually get tired of having to drive to the CSA pick-up point at her house three towns over to pick up abovementioned kale every $%^& week.
5. Steve was right and I was wrong.

AND DID I MENTION THAT HE'S REALLY, REALLY HANDSOME?  

And so, while I eat a big ol’ plateful of humble pie for dinner, I’m going to serve him one of his favorite soups, made with the last kale of (I promise!) our last attempt at belonging to a CSA.

Here’s how to make it:

1. Put on your sexiest dress and your highest-heeled shoes. (Hey: As my mother also says in Yiddish, "It couldn't hurt.")
2. Slice 12 ounces sweet Italian sausage into rounds and brown in a drop of olive oil in a large saucepan. If the sausage gives up a lot of grease, wipe some but not all of it out of the pot.
3. Add 2 cups chopped kale, and saute until wilted.
4. Add 1 cup peeled, diced potatoes, and a quart of really good chicken soup that you slaved over a hot stove to make from scratch. I'm just sayin'.
5. Cook over medium-low heat until the kale and potatoes are soft and the broth, somewhat thickened, tastes of sausage – the longer, the better. Season with salt and pepper to taste.

Serve with really great bread, and a nice bottle of wine.

A really, really nice bottle.

And that's all she wrote -- at least for now. Thank you for reading along as I cooked through my CSA summer. See you next year, in  the produce aisle of the Stop & Shop.