If you build it...

I would challenge even the most curmudgeonly conservative to find anything wrong with a farmers' market. Although they attract latte-drinking, well-heeled urbanites like flies to raw organic honey, they are manned by those close to the land and positively reek of self-sufficiency and honest labor.  The fact that mini versions of these markets are setting up in front of public schools all over Oakland should set hearts racing across the political spectrum.
Healthy food for all kids! Healthy food taxes don't have to pay for!  Healthy food where moms and dads can't miss it! Healthy food miles from the nearest latte-drinking urbanite!

But, if you build it, will kids really come?  Will they really ignore the jingle of the ice cream man's handcart?  Will they walk by the mama-preneurs hawking deep fried dough, self-bagged chips and bright lime suckers dusted in chili powder?  Will they really choose baby carrots over hot chips at the corner store?  Really? 

I was dubious, having confiscated a 7-11's worth of chips and candy in class through the years.  With a corner store down the street, would Doritos-loving kids really gravitate toward health food? I watched carefully as farmers' markets set up shop outside four of the schools where I work. At one school, they put the little white tents right on the yard. Unlike the Saturday version in a middle-class neighborhood near you, these are modest markets with a few tables.  One day each week, they offer nuts, fresh veggies, a limited selection of seasonal fruit, jars of honey, fresh eggs (in one location) and a few bars of local soap.  Nothing fancy.  But the stalls are usually packed three parents deep at dismissal time, doing a brisk business.  

But what about the kids?

The answer came, as many answers do, in the form of an 8-year-old struggling reader I'll call Z.  Z is whip thin and vibrates with energy.  Often that energy is excitement and enthusiasm.  Just as often, it's pouting and eye rolling.  Sometimes it's fear, as when he didn't want to come with me to read because his older brother was outside playing basketball and might see him needing "special help." This mood turned to jubilance when we then took the little known "secret agent" route to the reading center.  (We cut through the cafeteria kitchen, went out the side door, cut through the school garden and hugged the classroom's side wall all the way to the open door. Safe and sound.)  Z has had lots of volunteer tutors, most of whom can hang with his energy, but some of whom cannot.  As the reading specialist at his center, I'm often asked to step in during tougher weeks.  Thanks to the "secret agent" trick and others, I'm just as often able to give his mom a glowing report at the end of the session.  The surprised look on her face speaks volumes of her typical check-ins with teacherly figures.

Recently the exchange went something like this:

Me: Z had an excellent session today!  I wanted to let you know how focused he was.

Z's mom: You should know he's--wait--really? For real?  Really?

Z (vibrating with excitement): Really!  Really!

Me: Really!

Z's mom:  Well. Well!  You know what this means...(if possible, Z vibrates every more)...you get some (Z is practically levitating)...farmers' market!

Z's mom takes $2 out of her bag and hands it to Z, who bolts for the white tents.  Yes, the white tents.  Not the ice cream man, not the corner store--the white tents.  For the record, I have no problem with parents surprising their kids with treats following awesome behavior (though I'm not a fan of bribing kids, before the fact, to encourage expected behavior).  I'm definitely a fan of rewarding kids with a trip to the farmers' market that happens to be set up right in front of their school.  It could be that Z's mom would have driven him to the nearest supermarket for a healthy snack.  But we can all agree how unlikely that is.  What's much more likely is that healthy snacks are now more a part of the family routine since it is a convenient option.  And a kid handed $2 to spend is excited to spend it. Period.  The white tents don't represent organic goodness as much as tables laden with stuff they can now buy.

The next week, I worked with Z again, and I couldn't wait to ask him what he bought. The market does, after all, sells kettle corn and honey sticks. "It starts with P and ends with achios," he crowed, skipping down the stairs (no older brother today, so we could walk openly to the center).  Pistachios for good behavior.  Farmers' markets in front of our schools.  It's hard to argue with that.