July 27, 2018
Shopping Cart Misadventure
By John & Joan Maxwell
Cinnamon Ridge Farms
Even when life on the farm gets busy, my wife Joan and I try to keep our weekly date: spending time together at our club. Going to our club, that is, Sam’s Club, lets us do our farm’s weekly shopping together—and have some fun. Usually, the goods we need (whatever doesn’t grow on our farm like flour, spices, and laundry detergent) fill one Sam’s-sized cart. When we exit the store, Joan and I push our cart down the gentle, but significant, hill to the far corner of the parking lot, where we always park our white Suburban. Despite the shopping cart’s posted warnings (such as “Do not let child ride on cart”), the kid in me loves this part of our date. The gray hair at my temples blowing in the breeze, I put one foot on the cart axle, then the other, and coast all the way down the long hill. Sometimes I can even coax Joan to hop on the front, and the fun on our date extends the length of that hill.
One day a few years ago, our grocery list had been quite lengthy. The demands of the coming week—hungry farm interns, farm store baking, and several farm tour dinners—had piled not one, but two carts high with potatoes, butter, strawberries, pickles, and so much more. After chatting a bit with the employee at the door, I exited our club with my cart well behind Joan, who was briskly pushing hers toward our car. By the time I paused for passing cars, I could see Joan efficiently unloading the goods. As I glanced down at my own cartful of groceries, the urgency to catch up with Joan combined with the anticipation of the fun ride down the hill.
I did not pause to consider how I had so many fewer groceries in the cart, since they had been split between two carts this week, and no Joan on the front to keep the cart well-balanced. Like an Olympic bobsledder, I pushed the cart to a running start, then hopped on to roll down the hill. As soon as my second foot landed my full body weight onto the front of the cart, the laws of physics and the posted warnings on shopping carts caught up with me. To my complete surprise, up popped the front of the cart, toilet paper, bananas, and napkins! Out slid my feet and legs with the wheels of the cart! Down plummeted my back and rear end—with my tailbone crashing squarely onto the asphalt and my hands still gripping the cart handle.
Lying on my back with the wind knocked out of me, I gasped for air. A large man entering the store remarked, “Son, you ain’t gettin’ up from that.” An elderly woman began yelling, “Oh my God, he’s dying!”—which attracted Joan’s attention. With my back in severe pain, I was thankful Joan appeared so promptly at my side and helped me crawl to the curb. She then brought the car to me, and I managed to gingerly climb in.
An urgent call to a nearby chiropractor let us know, fortunately, that he had an immediate opening. Minutes later as I related my shopping cart misadventure, the chiropractor first smiled at my shenanigans and then helped to relieve much of my discomfort. Whew! With some time to heal, I would be as good as new. I was blissfully unaware that the next day’s events would require not one, but two return visits to the same chiropractor—plus a doctor-ordered enema! Let’s just say, when Joan and I have our regular date at Sam’s Club, I take the posted shopping cart warnings a little more seriously.
We encourage you to fill your shopping carts (safely, of course!) with our award-winning cheeses and meats at the I-80 Truckstop, North Scott Foods or the Freight House Farmers Market. These products, plus our delicious bakery goods, are also available at our self-service store, the Country Cupboard, which is located on our farm, just north of Donahue. Visit us on the web at www.tourmyfarm.com.
