When I was two, my parents left Cleveland and moved to Western Pennsylvania to farm. The house was a turn-of-the-century farmhouse that had fallen into disrepair; the man who was living there parked his motorcycle in the living room and had punched holes in the wall. In the winter, the roads were impassable because of snow . In the spring, they turned to mud. But my parents made it work, slowly remodeling the house over the years. We raised sheep for most of my childhood, adding beef cows during my teenage years.

I left home at eighteen to go to the University of Dallas, managing to come home every summer. I used to come home to help work the farm, making hay for the animals in winter and harvesting the garden and orchards for our own winter supplies. My parents have adapted to having no children home to help and have found ways to continue farming in a smaller capacity. Now my summer visits are more relaxed; I spend my time reading, walking in the woods and eating far too much.

The Burkett Family Farm Photo: Teresa Burkett

There is nothing my mother likes more than to have her children and grandchildren together under her roost, so for a few weeks each summer we all descend upon the house. This summer my sister, her six children, and I left Dallas‘s nasty heat wave for cooler weather and room to roam. The visit thus far has proved to be enjoyable if a little crazy at times. My father took great care to clean the pool, but the cooler weather here means the glacial water is too much for me even if my niece and nephews swim till their lips turn blue. Long walks through woods and along the country roads serve mostly to provide an appetite for meals. While the woods are lovely, living a mile from a large swamp means being constantly attacked by large mosquitoes.

Most of our time at home is spent eating meals together, sitting on the porch late into the night talking. Being here I’m reminded how easy it is in the country to procure the ingredients for a good meal. A few months ago I helped my sister make a dinner from local and Dallas ingredients. Gathering the ingredients and searching out Texas-made was great fun but time-consuming and expensive. A few nights ago I made a potato salad with green beans, onions, and cucumbers and served it with perch my Uncle had caught. For dessert we had strawberry-rhubarb tart. All of the ingredients, except pantry staples like oil, butter, flour, and strawberries, which are no longer in season here, came from the farm.

And so after the kids had been put to bed and the dishes done, the conversation on the porch turned to food. Living in the city and trying to eat conscientiously, buying organic and locally grown, trying to avoid preservatives etc., means spending a good deal of time locating food and little time thinking about how it reaches us. At times this type of consumerism seems as much a statement about who you are as it is about eating healthy. Here eating farm eggs, buying milk from the neighbors, and eating fresh from a large garden is simpler—a fabric of the rural lifestyle. Of course, some people here buy their groceries from WalMart, ignoring where their food comes from. But for people who do live off the land as best they can, it’s simply a way of life. I am lucky. I have the benefit of going home with canned food, farm-raised meat, and frozen fruit from the farm

Consuming food to a set of standards is a choice, and one that means making sacrifices. My parents don’t raise chickens or have a dairy cow because they like to travel. Instead, they choose to buy their milk and eggs from other local farmers. I choose to live in the city, so what I can’t smuggle home from my parents I buy at Whole Foods, Central Market, or local farmers markets. And when I can’t afford it, I still buy food that’s not organic. Mostly I want my food consumption to be less about what my food choices say and more about enjoying good food without all the fuss.