My husband Dan and I have scheduled deliveries of meat shares at our stand for each week remaining. It keeps the truck full of coolers and there's a feeling of satisfaction when it goes back empty each time.
Of course, nothing goes smoothly - I forgot to load a share on the truck during the last week of September - so this past Saturday we made a concerted effort to ensure nothing went squirrelly. I put paper labels on all the special orders so that someone who ordered a beef share doesn't get a bag full of pig hearts or a ten-pound chicken by mistake.
I had instructions written in triplicate: bills with balances due highlighted in pink, a check list of who's coming, what they are getting, and what they owe - if anything - plus, the original orders filled out by the client with a photocopy of a check or notation of being paid in cash. We rehearsed the load twice and counted the coolers before we left the farm. Foolproof? Oh my, no.
I left my stand for a bit (beverage-related) with Dan and a friend waiting on customers and fielding softballs from tourists about the farm and the food. It was a slow time, and about half the people we had expected to arrive had their meat orders home already. I took a walk around the market and did some socializing. After an hour my cellphone whistled, and I was called back with a cryptic message of urgency.
The fellas think that they gave someone who ordered a small (7.5 lb.) pork share, a large share (15 lbs.), but they weren't sure about anything except that they may have done the opposite as well.