A Dash of History...from Sally Herrin

I joined Open Harvest in 1978, about the time the first walk-in cooler was built in the store on Randolph Street. In those days, I was a young poet, and enchanted by the name Open Harvest, which legend has it came in a dream to member Steve King. Steve and Miranda King rented a farmhouse just east of The Playmor on West O Street, and studied naturopathic medicine.

I come from coop culture-my mother founded and directed not-for-profit, parent-owned coop nursery schools in Ann Arbor, Michigan, Atlanta, Georgia, and Baton Rouge, Louisiana. But Open Harvest was the first consumer food coop I had ever seen. More than a food store, Open Harvest was a community, with frequent potlucks, many intertwining families and friends and lots of political and cultural expression.

All of this seemed to be embraced in the name. Openness is one of the Great socio-economic principles of the cooperative movement. Membership is open in traditional coops, and the store is also open to non-members. The benefits of the cooperative spill over into the community at large, which has a steady supply of fresh, sustainably produced food. Harvest is a gathering in, of food and also of the people who eat it, and of the people who prepare and grow the food. It is a beautiful word, full of sacred meaning for all time.

My favorite Open Harvest memory from the old days was the Saturday afternoon a group of young travelers-whom I now think must have been Sufis (Muslim mystics some call "dervishes")-came into the store. They were from California. They had many pierces for the year 1978, and they wore muslin clothing, thin and elegant, in colors like sky and sand. They settled on the benches at our little lunch counter and ordered open-faced garlic sandwiches.

Nothing could have been more open than Open Harvest's first "cafe." Our equipment was a blender for smoothies, a crockpot for soup (prepared at home) and a toaster oven for open faced sandwiches with veggies, nuts and cheese. In full view of the customers, we made up plates to order and visited at the same time.

Under the direction of the Sufis, I broke out five heads of garlic for four sandwiches. They chose millet bread, and on each slice I piled the peeled, halved cloves. I drizzled the sandwiches generously with olive oil and toasted them, then finished with fresh ground pepper. They were amazing, rich and light, a taste both complex and completely simple.

The store filled with the heavenly scent of roasting garlic. Soon other shoppers came back and asked what we were making. The Sufi visitors laughed, and left their seats to let other folks order up garlic sandwiches, which we continued to make until the store ran out of garlic.