Ned nodded. “Of course,” he said. “But that goes without saying. Not every climate will be able to produce every fruit or vegetable there’s demand for.”
“That’s true,” Holly said, “but do you think people really think about where their food comes from when it’s so shiny and easy to buy at the supermarket? Maybe that orange was picked before it was ripe and flown in on a cargo jet, or else trucked around the country using tons of fossil fuels and releasing all kinds of toxins into the environment. But if people stopped and thought about eating locally, maybe they’d select an apple that was grown down the road—perfectly ripe and much easier to transport.”
Ned sighed. “Right,” he said.
“Local food usually tastes better too,” George pointed out, “because local farmers don’t pick their produce until it’s perfectly ripe. Produce that’s trucked in has to be picked weeks before it’s ready, and that affects the flavor.”
Holly smiled at her. “Exactly,” she said. “And we haven’t even touched on organic versus conventional produce, and how many toxins are released into the ecosystem by conventional fertilizers and pesticides.”
Ned spoke up. “But scientists haven’t found much of a nutritional difference in organic and conventionally grown food,” he said.
Holly shrugged. “That’s true,” she agreed, “but we don’t have to look very hard to find the damage that conventional farming does to the environment.”
Bess sighed, shaking her head. “Even if I can see the logic in what you’re saying,” she said, “I don’t do the grocery shopping, Holly. My dad does it, and he’s big on bargains.”
Holly nodded slowly. “Bess, all I ask is that you listen to the presentation tonight and if you’re impressed, if you like the quality of the food we serve, you mention us to your dad. Or pass on some flyers I’d be happy to give you.” Holly turned from Bess to look at George, Ned, and me. “That goes for all of you,” she said.
I glanced from George to Ned. George was nodding enthusiastically, and even skeptical Ned gave Holly a small smile. “Fair enough,” he said.
“Sure,” I agreed. While I didn’t always eat organic, I definitely believed in being environmentally responsible. And everything Holly had said made sense.
“Oh, look!” Holly pointed behind my head at a tall, gray haired and bearded man. She stood up and waved, and the man turned to her and nodded. “That’s Sam Heyworth, the man of the hour.”
“Who?” asked Ned.
Holly smiled. “Sam’s the founder and owner of the Black Creek Organic Farm and CSA.”
“So what is a CSA, exactly?” I asked. The term was familiar, but I wasn’t totally sure what it meant.
Holly’s eyes sparkled. “I’m so glad you asked! CSA stands for Community Supported Agriculture. Do you know how a CSA works?”
I shook my head.
“It’s basically a way to help keep small farms in business, and help people who live in the suburbs get access to fresh, local, in-season produce,” she explained. “If your family joined, for example, Nancy, they would pay an upfront fee for the whole growing season—June through November. And every week during that season—or every other week if you bought a half share—you’d come to this community center to pick up the freshest, most in-season veggies and fruits that grew on the farm that week.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Picked that week?” I asked. “That’s pretty fresh.”
Holly nodded. “Right off the farm, my friend. It’s as fresh as it gets.”
I glanced up to see the bearded man Holly had identified as Sam Heyworth headed our way, followed by a woman about his age with short blonde hair. Holly looked up at them and smiled.
“Sam can tell you everything you want to know about the CSA,” she said cheerfully. “Black Creek Farm means a lot to him, doesn’t it, Sam?”
Sam walked up to the table and smiled down at Holly. “You know it does,” he said, looking around at my friends and me. “Hello. Friends of Holly’s, I assume?”
George grinned, her eyes twinkling. “Holly was our Girl Scout leader,” she said. “She won’t stop talking about your farm and CSA.”
Sam chuckled. “Well, I’m flattered,” he said. “Running Black Creek Farm is a dream of mine. I gave up a partnership at my law firm to build it.”
Ned raised an eyebrow. “So you were a lawyer, and now you’re a farmer?” he asked.
Sam nodded. “And I was a stressed-out, unhappy man, frankly, but now I’m . . .” He stopped and turned to look at the blonde woman, who’d come to a stop beside him. “. . . very content,” he finished. “Ladies and gentleman, allow me to introduce my wife, Abby. She’s given up a lot to support me in pursuing this dream.”
The woman turned to my friends and me with a smile, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Hello, everyone,” she said. “I hope you’re hungry!”
“We’re starving,” Bess promised.
Abby and Sam laughed. Sam glanced up, catching the eye of a thirtysomething man with short brown hair and boxy black glasses. He raised his hand, waving the man over. The man nodded, then gestured for a woman with long red hair and a protruding, pregnant belly to follow him.
“This is our son, Jack, and his wife, Julie,” Abby explained. “They’re from Chicago, but they’ve been visiting us while they house-hunt in the area.”
“Hi,” said Jack, stopping a few feet away and looking from face to face with a quizzical look.
Julie stopped right behind him. “Hi, everyone,” she said. Now that she was closer, I could see that she looked a little pale. “Oh, gosh, I need to sit down.”
Jack looked at her with concern. “Go have a seat!” he said urgently. “In fact, go grab something to eat in the kitchen.”
Sam nodded. “That’s right, dear,” he said. “You’re eating for two, remember.”
Julie shot a small smile at my friends and me. “Sorry to be rude,” she said, “but I think I might take Sam up on that. I’ve been so hungry lately!”
“When are you due?” Bess asked warmly.
“One more month,” Julie said, patting her round belly.
She waved and walked toward the kitchen. I followed her with my eyes, and was surprised when I heard harsh voices coming from nearby.
“. . . should’ve planned for her to eat first,” Jack was saying to his father, a sharp edge in his voice. “She’s eight months pregnant!”
Sam looked hurt. “And nobody minds her sitting down, or eating early.”
“Are you sure?” Jack asked in a lower voice, sneering. “You don’t want us out here shaking hands to sell your stupid vegetables?”
Sam’s face drooped even further. Abby shot Jack a warning look. “Now, Jack. . . .”
Holly cleared her throat. She was staring straight ahead and I couldn’t tell whether she’d heard the argument and was ignoring it, or had really missed the whole thing.
Carolyn Keene is the bestselling author of the popular Nancy Drew series of books.
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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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Library of Congress Control Number 2014940902
ISBN 978-1-4814-1701-3 (hc)
ISBN 978-1-4814-1700-6 (pbk)
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The Magician's Secret Page 9