The Farm Stand

As we rode along the clean pristine road in the Mohawk Valley of upstate New York I saw a farm stand up ahead. Slowing down to stop I found that it was unattended.

The counter of the old grey weathered structure was covered with the farmer’s bounty of beautiful vegetables including bright red tomatoes, canary yellow corn, deep green zucchini and brightly colored carrots of every hue. Purple grapes like stained glass globes rested in a basket to the side. My mouth watered in anticipation of the juicy jewels. This beautiful abundance of produce was offset by the weathered old farm stand with its rusty nails hiding below the surface and a herd of splinters lying in wait for the unobservant customer. On the right hand side a pile of paper bags sat with an oval rock holding them in place. A little sign taped on a masons jar read, $2 A BAG. HELP YOURSELF AND THANK YOU FOR YOUR PATRONAGE!

Wow I was impressed. THE HONOR SYSTEM! I had read about it in my 1953 edition of the BOY SCOUTS of AMERICA HANDBOOK, which had kept me on the straight and narrow in youth, but I had never actually seen it in practice! You had to take your hat off to our rural cousins, who had somehow managed to keep their innocence in this modern age of corruption and dishonor. Both the faith of the farmer and the honesty of his customers were commendable and awe inspiring to a jaded New York City resident.

I took two bags from beneath the smooth oval rock and filled them with vegetables and fruit. Stuffing $4 Into the masons jar and replacing the lid, the New Yorker in me wondered if the the cash would last until the farmer’s return. This thought led me to imagine a similar scenario in New York City.

Dylan’s Candy Bar on 60^th street and 3^rd Avenue had closed up for the day at noon; Ms. Dylan (the daughter of Ralph Lauren) had something to attend to. Before she left for the day, a folding table was set up against the front of the store and upon it Ms.Dylan piled delicious treats of every description. With the candy, a pile of small brown paper bags were placed with an oval rock and a masons jar to put bills into. A sign was taped to the jar which read, $20. A BAG. PLEASE HELP YOURSELF AND THANK YOU FOR YOUR PATRONAGE! Within minutes the table began to receive attention. People stood in amazement looking for a guard or The Candid Camera crew. Not seeing anyone, accountants, secretaries, meter maids and bike messengers each swiped a piece or two of candy. A homeless man and an Amazon were struggling over a bag of Sour Patch Kids. The Amazon was attempting to strangle the man with a rope of candy shoestring laces, yelling “You let go of that you dirty S.O.B”

“Who is you the Queen of England?” retorted the homeless man while beating her mercilessly with a large thick candy cane.

Gum drops, mints and miscellaneous treats flew hither and thither while weaponized M&M shrapnel assaulted the assembled crowd of onlookers, a tragedy for those of us with an affection for confection! Simultaneously, a sweet little old lady stuck the masons jar in her shopping bag hustling away as fast as her little legs would carry her, retaining the oval rock to fight off would be assailants. A young child stood motionless, her mouth filled to overflowing with billowy clouds of cotton candy like a chipmunk collecting nuts for the winter. Sea sprays of Swedish fish showered all assembled while a sparrow balanced himself on a jawbreaker fluttering its wings in a feeble attempt to lift the heavy payload like a seal in some aquatic performance. A Multicolored avalanche of gum balls descended on the crowd and within ten minutes the table had been almost picked clean like an unfortunate Agouti wading into a lake filled with piranhas. Meanwhile a construction worker unceremoniously folded up and removed the table, disappearing into the crowd and a rat scampered around picking up the last remnants of candy, then skipping off in delight with his bounty.

By 12:20 PM there was no trace left of Ms. Dylan’s enterprise.

So much for the honor system…at least in New York City.

Jim

July 2019