I’m a supporter of my local farm stand, a retail outlet of the farmer with the most acreage under till in New England. I go there for the fresh, locally grown produce at decent prices, and enjoy knowing that I’m supporting not only a local business but an improbably strong agricultural survivor in the sea of suburbia.

They sell a lot more than local produce, and I’ve recently been taken greater heed of where stuff comes from, declining to buy the Argentinian and Chilean apples, pears, etc., because of the food miles.

I was up early on Sunday — which is to say “out early,” since I’m up by 5 every day, which is either a result of advancing age or being father to a toddler, even if I am almost always up before he is.

Joe and I headed to the stand about 8:30, seeking both veggie plants and a few garden tools, as well as our usual load of produce. Because we were among the first 200 customers, we were given a goodie bag in celebration of the stand’s new pavilion.

With my thoughts filled by my multiple missions and my arms filled by my squirming boy, I noted the head of lettuce at the top of the bag and put no more. had I give it more notice, I would have declined — here’s what completed the gift:

8 oz apple cider

Two donuts (fried, sweetened, flour)

Some sort of trail mix (no label, but that stuff always has added sugar)

Mini-blueberry breakfast bread (sugar, 2d ingredient)

12 oz root beer (after water, HFCS is the highest ingredient)

Though I know the operation has a bakery and devotes not insignificant shelf space to non-fresh goods, I was still surprised — and disappointed — that my farm stand had chosen to thank me for my patronage with so little of its farm produce.

Next: Why I think they did.