March 15, 2011

Slow Food Portland Writer Winners

Grade 3-5

Grand prize: Zoe Popovic, Grade 4, Congin School

The Season in My Stomach I usually bring my own lunch to school. Sometimes the kids that buy lunch tease me. It used to bother me, but it doesn't anymore. I know where my food comes from. I have seen it in the fields; I've dug my own potatoes. My food is always changing. I can tell the season by what is in my lunch box. Starting the year with the summer harvest and the green taste of basil on my juicy tomato and mozzarella sandwich. Before I know it I have a thermos filled with butternut squash ravioli with sweet apples just picked over the weekend. In winter the staples from our farm share - rice and beans. I know summer vacation is on it's way when my lunch turns green again with veggie wraps filled with baby greens. I also see yoghurt mixed with the preserves from last summer's days spent picking blueberries and I know that soon I will be back in those fields. I have been a member of a CSA for as long as I can remember, whether getting a box from the farm or visiting. I know my farmers, Amy and Tom, and I know the farm. When I eat my lunch I can picture where it came from. I see the path through the fields of flowers down to vegetables. I know where to turn off to cool myself in the river. I imagine the games that I played with the other kids between courses at the potlucks. I think of the chickens running around and being ridiculous. I picture the sunflowers by the barn and remember waiting for them to have plump seeds for picking. If someone has something to say about my lunch that's okay. It doesn't bother me. I know where my food comes from and don't think they can say the same. When the bell for recess rings, I offer to share a carrot and they take it with a smile and we run outside.

Second prize: Eliot Bramble, Grade 3, Breakwater School
Picking Apples Eating the juicy and crunchy apple it's just dazzling to feel it go down your throat and feel the golden finish wrapping itself in your throat. The crisp feeling in your stomach is like eating gold. When I reach for another one from the tree, a slight breeze blows across the farm dropping many apples. They roll across the field like a stampede of wild dogs. But all that was left was a perfect ripe and golden apple. I got it just in time. My mouth made a perfect circle. The orange hot sun made the apple look like it was the sun itself. Then I took another beautiful rich and ripe fantastic bite of glory upon the gold looking farm. Then I heard a loud and tough sound. It was the bellowing voice of my dad that sounded like a drill sergeant. I sort of fell down the hill, boy was I running fast. Apples flew past me like bullets. I finally found him. Then I found another beautiful ripe apple. This was it! I took a big, huge bite. It was like gold going down my throat. The c risp outside of the apple gave way to juicy flesh that dripped down my chin. I ran back across the field to get one more apple. A hare ran across the field like a bullet zooming on the ground. I was at the top of the hill, and there was a bright orange field right in front of me. I ran down to the field. We were here to find the perfect pumpkin! It seemed like ages, but I finally found just the right one. I yelled for my family to come down and see. They all agreed that we should get this pumpkin, so we loaded up the wagon, which seemed to shrink with that huge pumpkin inside. The rattle of the wagon made a soft drumming noise all the way back to the car.

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