I asked the vendor at the U-District Farmer’s Market what makes a second sweet potato a second sweet potato. Little things, mostly. Mostly superficial.
Every time I purchase seconds, I feel disproportionately proud. In the summer, it’s tomatoes for conserva. In fall, it’s butternut squash for soup. In winter, it’s all kinds of apples for sauce. In spring, it’s sweet potatoes. I like to think that I save them from waste. That I’m being thrifty and earth-friendly and kind. All at once.
This Saturday, there was little wrong with most of them in the designated box. Some were odd shapes and non-traditional colors. Others bore tiny spots where they were going soft. Wait a minute. I resemble those remarks. Am I a second? Am I privileging myself?
I do not sport the traditional look or the traditional shape. I am rarely what people expect. I catch side-long glances. In social situations, I can sense folks choosing other strangers to engage. Others who conform and confirm. Not us seconds.
So what and who are these firsts? Where did the so-called “ugly” tomatoes fit into the equation? What about the heirloom varieties? The organic? Suddenly things all seemed more complicated than before.
Which is what often happens right before they get simple.
If you asked my mother, she would say that my differences are my strengths. And that I’ve always been that way. That she loves me, exactly as I am. And I do, too. With my bumps and my bruises. And my eccentricities and predilections. Happy to choose seconds first.
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