We all know that the price of food is going up, which should not come as a surprise at all. After all, who could have possibly predicted that the industrialization and consolidation of our nation’s food supply would raise the cost of food?

Let’s all take a moment to bow our heads, clear our minds, and formulate a few thoughts of gratitude, in memoriam of food that is nurturing, healthy, and accessible. Someday, just maybe, we will have the courage to understand that the chronic physical and mental health issues facing our society are directly tied to the “food” that we eat. In light of the holiday season and the quantifiable change that is occurring in regards to grocery shopping, I would like to introduce you to my grandmother.

My grandmother was of the Great Depression/World War II generation. Throughout my childhood, she regularly hosted family reunions at her house. For Thanksgiving, Christmas, Easter, or any occasion where family was involved my aunts and uncles, cousins, and assortment of close characters would descend upon the farmhouse for a massive reunion, complete with a meal fit for royalty. There was turkey, ham, beef Swiss steak, mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce, gravy, and carrots cut into strips and glazed. The vegetables were sourced from her garden, and the farm provided the beef and dairy. Everything was homemade - right down to the pie crusts, jello, and whipped cream we had for dessert.

Interestingly, when my grandmother spoke of the Great Depression she remarked that if it weren’t for the newspapers and radio broadcasts, she wouldn’t have even realized that there was an economic depression going on at all, saying, “We never had any money, and we certainly didn’t go hungry since the farm provided us with everything we ever needed.”

Grandma’s dinner spread is the kind of memory that only gets richer and more appreciated as time passes, and I find it worth sharing one particular food experience that stands out first and foremost in my mind as something uniquely special from my adolescence: My High School Homecoming Dinner.

During my senior year in high school, I made plans to go on a double date with a classmate friend of mine. We were both farm kids, and wanted to treat our dates to something unique and authentic, rather than the typical run to a chain restaurant in the big city of Madison, which was what most kids did at the time.

So, I proposed the idea of asking my grandmother to host us. Perhaps she could put on a spread like she did at the holidays? We were delighted when she agreed, and the memory of that night has only gotten more precious with time.

Arriving at grandma’s house with our dates was like a window into the world of chivalry from the 1950s. She greeted us at the door and remarked, “The gentlemen shall remove the ladies’ coats and escort them to the dining room.”

Grandma had pulled out all the stops. The dining room was a picture of elegance. She directed, “The gentlemen shall seat the ladies first.” I cannot help but smile at the memory of this evening, and the attention to detail Grandma put into the occasion. The table was set with her best cloth, finest silverware, china dishes, and candle-lit. At the center of the dining table was a crystal bell, which we were to ring each time we were ready for the next course, or if we required anything at all.

She had asked me ahead of time what we wanted to eat, and our dinner included a salad with homemade dressing to start, Swiss beef steak with glazed carrots and homemade mashed potatoes with gravy. There was sweetcorn, a relish tray, and glasses of sparkling non-alcoholic cider in lieu of champagne. For dessert, she had made homemade apple pie with vanilla ice cream.

But, there is an observation that makes dinner at Grandma’s house more than just a feel-good story. Her outlook on the Great Depression, and how they “never had any money”, but also “never went hungry because the farm provided everything they needed” is a glimpse into a bygone era where even the poorest economic class still maintained the ability to feed itself.

We now live in a time where a small, autonomous, family-operated farm is such an anomaly, that you can charge the price of admission for people wanting to see it. One of my favorite stories to tell on our world-class farm tour is how, during the 1950s, my grandparents’ farm included dairy, beef, hogs, sheep, horses, and a flock of laying hens. In fact, once per week, my grandmother - the same lady who prepared the Homecoming Dinner - collected eggs from the henhouse and took the eggs to town to sell at one of the many downtown grocery stores.

Once per week, my grandma collected and sold eggs from the farm at a local grocery store, where a man candled the eggs to check for quality. For this, Grandma received enough cash to turn around and buy supplementary groceries to feed her family of six - for a week.

Imagine, a week’s worth of groceries to feed a family of six, in exchange for eggs. Keep that in mind next time you check out.

— Dan Wegmueller is the owner of Wegmueller Farms and his column appears regularly in the Times. His website is https://www.farmforthought.org.