Here’s how it works: To enter the market, people purchase a one time membership for five bucks and receive an unlaminated card. They also sign a long waiver that explicity states that they are assuming responsibility for the food they are about to purchase and eat. And that’s it. Walk through the double doors of the small school gymnasium and into a hotbed of rural economic activity. Or put another way, a place where profound human connections are made. Multiple times as we filmed throughout the day, people said that the market felt like a family. People welled up.

In a culture where so many of us stare into black mirrors instead of people’s eyes, this place was building friendship and resilience. It was building trust. As someone who has shopped at dozens of farmers markets around the country, this one was by far the most emotionally connected. Perhaps it is because of the size of the town, the shared challenge of living far from a major city. But another instinct is that the key reason for the emotional intimacy is the lack of regulation. The risk. People participating in this market are essentially saying, I trust you more than I trust any food monopolist to feed my family. I trust you more than any government-stamped seal of approval. I’d rather sign my life away to buy your food than go to a grocery store. It’s profound. It’s life-changing. It’s a privilege to witness and be a part of.