My friend Besty is haunted by produce. She exemplifies the reason I fear signing up for a farm share. I would be in a constant state of worry over how to prepare the volumes of kale, eggplant and cabbage that would multiply in the drawers and corners of my refrigerator. I would get sick over the rot of uneaten lettuces. I would be secretly leaving weirdly shaped squash on neighbors' doorsteps. I would dread the looks from my family as I set before them another goulash, soup or stew made from the bounty.

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