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BELL PEPPER TALES
by Andy Griffin
Mariquita Farm
Organically Grown Vegetables, Berries and Herbs
P.O. Box 2065 Watsonville, CA 95077
(831) 761-3226
www.mariquita.com
I sometimes make fun of people for buying produce trusting only in their eyes to choose while ignoring the testimony of their noses but I still have to admit that a big reason I grow peppers is that I love their beautiful colors. And today, because I'm the boss, I make everyone else pick basil while I pick the peppers by myself just so I can enjoy them all with my eyes before they are sold.
I see a big yellow pepper and snap it off the plant. I turn it over. There is large ugly burned spot on the bottom where the pepper pod touched the hot soil one scorching summer day. I toss the flawed pepper onto the ground. Colored peppers always end up being more expensive than the immature green ones since they must be cared for so much longer before harvest and the percentage of the crop that spoils is much higher. But colored peppers do taste better. I reach for another pepper and lift it up gently in my palm. Where the sun has warmed it on the top and sides the pepper has already turned a rich fire engine red but on the shady, cool side there is still an apple green patch fading through brown to brick red shoulders. Some customers will reject this pepper because it isnt a solid color. Then again, somebody will probably buy it just because they enjoy the slow drama of seeing a pepper change color over a couple of days. I consider the issue, then pick the pepper, green patch and all. If I were a conventional grower I might pass these half-colored peppers through an ethylene gas ripening chamber to color them all up at once. But Im too much of a hippie to allow a gas chamber on my farm, and anyway, Ive noticed that a splash of green makes the golds and reds seem brighter and deeper by contrast on my stall display. Colors mean different things to different people.
 I remember back six years ago to a day in the Santa Cruz farmers market. It was a gorgeous late afternoon in early fall, much like today, and my stall tables were piled high with shiny peppers in green, yellow, and red. The air was perfumed with basil. Shoppers milled about filling their baskets and checking each other out. There were hemp activists, college kids, clove-smoking slackers and mothers pushing strollers. I caught a whiff of ganga coming from the crowd of rainbow kids gooning and swooning to the rhythms of the drummers on the sidewalk. Just about everyone had found time to say something nice about the pretty peppers. A lady approached and was shocked to see that even drab olive green jalapeņos turn bright red given a chance.
"There is sweet with the heat in a red jalapeņo," I told her, but I couldn't convince her to buy any.
"Its a shame its not Christmas," she said. "They're so darling. I could hang them on my tree for decoration."
A fellow approached my booth and eyed the display. "Are the capsicums organic?" he asked.
"Oh, yes," I answered. "I use no herbicides, fungicides, insecticides, or synthetic fertilizers."
"Jah bless," he replied and began to fill his bag with peppers. He turned to leave.
"Excuse me sir," I called out. "You need to pay for those peppers."
"I & I have already paid," he said.
"You & you haven't paid me." I barked back. The sidewalk drums pittered to a quiet and the dancers stopped grooving to take in this new bit of scandal spicing up their afternoon. My customer reached into his bag for a couple of peppers and held them high for all to see.
"Green for the forests of Africa, stolen from the black man by the white man. Yellow for the gold of the black man stolen by the white man. Red for the blood of the black man spilled by the white man." A couple of people who had gathered to enjoy this free theater whistled appreciatively. I'm as white as it gets but you get used to this stuff in Santa Cruz.
"Tighten your rap, sir," I responded. "Peppers are not African. We could say with greater poetic justification that the red, green, and gold of the peppers are reflected in the Bolivian national flag. For it was on the Bolivian altiplano 6000 years ago that the pepper was first domesticated. By the time Columbus came peppers were cultivated from the Amazon to the Rockies. Every basic form of the pepper was developed by the indigenous peoples of the Americas. If you want to talk about a debt to history lets talk about what you and I owe them."
"Jah bless and keep you," he responded.
"Look, sir. I can't pay the folks that work for me in blessings. They need money. If you can believe the W-2 forms they fill out this little farm supports over 40 people from grandmas to infants, from Watsonville to Oaxaca. If you want the peppers you're going to have to pay.
"It is a Babylon system," he spoke to the crowd.
"Then pay in Babylonian currency." I answered. He grinned and reached into his pocket for his billfold.
"The capsicum is beautiful," he said, passing me some money.
"Thank you very much," I replied as I handed him his change. "Have a nice day."
"All glory to Jah, Ras Tafari," he answered. "Son of David, Prince of princes, King of kings, Emperor of Ethiopia and conquering Lion of Judah. Jah bless and keep you all."
I love it about the farmers markets that the people there are sometimes even more colorful than the peppers they buy. I hope to see you Saturday.
Copyright 2001 Andy Griffin
Mariquita Farm
Used with permission
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