Seven-year-old Jake pulled out the loaf of bread to make a sandwich. Whole wheat bread. It started him thinking. Do they make half wheat bread? What would the other half be? But if this was all wheat, how is it all mushed together? It can’t be just a stalk of wheat all mushed up, how would it stick together? It must mean it’s made of all of the wheat and other things too, or else it would fall apart. Right? He continued making his sandwich.
Looking at the bread wrapper there was a picture of a wheat field, on it. Anyway, he assumed it was a wheat field. It was a field of something growing next to a stream and in the distance, you could see a fence and beyond that a building that looked like a farm house. A wheat farm. Wheat must be a crop.
Spreading his peanut butter, he thought peanuts must be a crop too. He knew you could get them in shells so they must grow on vines somehow. They probably had peanut farms too.
Pouring his milk, he smiled. He certainly knew they had dairy farms. He had heard about them since he was little.
Suddenly food became more than grocery stores and shopping trips and what was in the refrigerator. Suddenly food had become interesting.
His mother walked in. “Jake! You came in half an hour ago to get a sandwich, what have you been doing? Goofing off again, no doubt! Finish that sandwich, we have more raking to do outside and you are certainly going to work!”
Little did she know that in thirty-two years, because of the work that Jake had just been doing, he would be supporting the entire family with his own restaurant...