Bilingual Berries

I have two clamshells of bilingual berries.

My raspberries went bad before I could eat them. I wonder if it has something to do with the fact they came all the way from Chile. Maybe it has nothing to do with that, but dang that's a long flight for little red raspberries, they have traveled more in their lifetime than I have in mine. They are named Red & Blue, it sounded pretty patriotic to me. One time I picked wild raspberries in New Hampshire. I guess at first glance I thought they maybe came from there, but then again the Chilean flag is also Red & Blue, so they are still some patriotic berries. The odd thing though is I would've expected Chilean raspberries to speak spanish, but they are actually fluent in French. I expected them to say that they are frambuesas, but in fact they claim to be framboises! With a little research of the berries. I found out that Chile is the largest exporter of fruit in the southern hemisphere, in fact I love that the Chilean fruit industry has such an easy to navigate, informative and aesthetically pleasing website. Literally, I could find in about two seconds anything I could possibly want to know and more than I care to know about Chilean fruit. Check it out! http://www.chileanfreshfruit.com/

The other clamshell is filled with blueberries. These berries are from Plant City, Florida. Not very far away. In fact, I've been there a few times for the Florida Strawberry Festival. While obviously not as famous as strawberries to the area, I wasn't surprised that other berries may be grown there. That's the positive part. Short trip blueberries, bringing back positive memories of the fair. The negative, they are named Poverty Ridge. Isn't that depressing. The poor berries are being called impoverished. Ok, maybe they are not impoverished, but where is this Poverty Ridge? Is this where these berries were grown? I'm all about being true to the land, but gosh... all I can think about with a name like that is poor little barefoot hungry children picking berries till their fingers bleed. Rename the ridge! Sunny Ridge, Merry Berry Ridge, Green Grass Ridge, Blue Skies, Bright Smiles and Blueberries Ridge. Something positive please! Also these berries speak French too. Maybe Poverty Ridge might sound better in French.

Thoughts from the Produce Aisle

Everyone knows you are suppose to eat your fruits and vegetables. My first real word as a child was "juice", of course that's the reason why I have 20/20 vision. Today I ran into a grand scheme in product placement, just as this past weekend I ran into people with grand schemes to influence social change.

"You Are What You Eat" - The phrase that inspired the memorable donut hips of the women who should've eaten a Nutri-Grain bar has already overtaken society with diets and gym wear, but now while I know this hasn't quite caught on mainstream... well it has in places filled with "Crunchy People", you are not only what you eat, but what your food is packaged in.

So we are "plastic"!

Not really a surprise here. I mean, what little girl didn't want to be Barbie when she grew up?

Swipe the plastic for plastic surgery, plastic bags, plastic bottles and all those plastic containers. Plastic convenience store stop in the red plastic convertible. Hey Ken! Do you want a coke? Hot blonde sashes into jiffy store, while metal pumping beef cake fills up the muscle car. Rumble rumble zoom zoom couple speeds off into the distance, a cloud of smoke and dust fills the air and chokes the short mousey brunette on the bicycle. A sweaty old man walking down the sidewalk in overalls turns his head down and brings a red handkerchief to his mouth. He must be homeless or something cause he's walking. She must be broke cause she's biking.

Somewhere far from the hot concrete is the smell of smoke. Not car exhaust, but the delicious smell of roasting peppers, corn and bananas. Bright colors pop into the landscape of blues and greens. There is plenty for everyone. Would you like to try it? Are you hungry? There's plenty. Five hours for fresh air and fresh food. Five hours of grey. But there is no wasting, but lot's of working. Working to grow together and grow food and grow color in the grey.

I came back to grey. I'm not that good. I guess I could be better. Everyone can better themselves. I have needs. I sustain myself, whether or not it is sustainable, I'm not sure. I go to the produce aisle. Color!! Del Monte Fruit Naturals called my name. I don't think fruit cups typically hang in the produce aisle. I think they try to appeal to lunch box packing mothers looking for convenience, plastic.

These things looked like little treasures for a fruit craving single. What! I can have a variety fruit and it won't go bad before I can eat it! I don't think to share, maybe I don't have enough of a tribe rooting for me to be able to share. I imagine the possibilities, it's overwhelming. I don't know which one to eat first. I start to question my compulsiveness later, I mean all that plastic, shouldn't I have just got fruit to cut up myself. The price. Did I spend too much? I never went down the aisle with the other fruit cups to compare.

It was too late. I made my way across cracked concrete to the real version of what that scaled down plastic convertible stood for and I forgot forks, I forgot decency. My primal self tore into the fruit cup. Juice dripping down my chin, down my front, down the folds of my dress. Sticky fingers grabbed instinctively for the colors.

I was what I ate. Juicy.