Sometimes I wish times were simpler, where we could leave our doors unlocked, unafraid someone would break in and rob us. But times are not that simple, and maybe never have been.
But even now, here in rural America, there are pockets where trust still rules. I see it on roadside wagons, with fresh-picked sweet corn piled under a canopy. There are no farm kids sitting in chairs reading their iPhones, or farmwives working a crossword. There is just a laminated card with prices for a dozen, half dozen, single ears of corn. There is a red lock box with a slot where you can fold your bills and drop your change. Even at Cherry Valley Feed, you pay the box and not inside.
I feel Blackmer’s trust, I feel the danger like standing on a bridge high over the Taos stretch of the Rio Grande, the pull to jump, but here it’s the pull to take the corn without paying. I squeeze my dollars into the slot, cradle my ears. It smells like sunshine -- corn picked hours earlier before the sugars turn to starch.
As I bite into sweet, pale goodness, the taste is almost as good as Blackmer trusting me to buy these ears with no one watching. I hope his customers -- you and I -- stay worthy of that trust.
I’m Katie Andraski, and this is my perspective.
