When my husband and I signed up for a Community Supported Agriculture program a year ago, we had several goals. We wanted to support local farmers and our local economy. We wanted to lessen our family’s carbon footprint. We wanted to teach our children where their food came from.

And we wanted to experience the delicious pleasure of seasonal produce.

What I didn’t bargain for was eating my words along with my veggies.

Most CSA programs work like this: In the winter, the consumer contracts with a local farmer or group of farmers. He pays a fee up front, then once a week throughout the growing season — usually from May to November — the consumer gets a box of farm-fresh, organically grown, seasonal goodies.

Each week we would get a little surprise from our friends at the Mid-Chatham Farmers Alliance. The salad greens, lettuce and radishes of spring were all eaten in turn, then came summer berries, beans, tomatoes and corn. As the days shortened there were sweet potatoes, apples and more greens.

But this time, along with the turnip greens came the turnips.

My father loves turnips. My mother would boil them and he would relish every pungent bite. If it had ended there, there would be no story now. But my father, a generous sort, wanted to share this gustatory delight with his children.

Every time they appeared on the table, I would prepare for battle. For there was no way I was going to eat the vile, stinking things of my own free will. These little battles ended as you might expect. I would sit staring mulishly at my cold dinner, hour after hour, until bedtime or my mother intervened.

The final turnip battle became legendary in family lore. My father decided that I was going to eat the turnips. Finally cowed, I held my nose and tried to force some down with a hefty swig of water. They didn’t stay down for long.

We declared a truce. And I swore that I’d never eat turnips again.

But there they were in my box. What was I going to do? I wanted to pitch them into the compost, but I couldn’t.

Our family had signed up to eat locally grown food. And I felt that obligation keenly. How could I urge my husband and children to try the tomatillos, okra, radishes and beets, if I balked at the turnips? Not to mention, we had paid good money for these fine organic veggies and the thought of wasting food turned my stomach more than the thought of eating turnips.

Going with a recipe that came with our box, I tried roasting the things with other root vegetables. But this usually foolproof method failed to disguise the offending peppery pungency. A small nibble was all I could get down.

The next week, they were there again. But this time, I decided to try cooking them with their greens with a ham hock and lots of chili pepper. I’ve lived long enough in the South to know that anything tastes better with enough pork.

As I sautéed, chopped, spiced and finally tasted, I started looking forward to eating the things. The heavenly aroma of onions, garlic, ham and peppery greens filled my kitchen.

Later as I savored my lunch, I couldn’t help smiling. Not only had I beaten the turnips, but I had made peace with them and with my father. My victory meal was complete with several slices of hot, buttery cornbread and a side of crow. Yum.

Resolve to eat locally

There are many farms in the Cary area that offer CSA programs. January is the typical time to sign up for the coming growing season. To find out more about these farms visit ces.ncsu.edu/chatham /ag/SustAg/csafarms.html. For details about where to find locally grown food in your area, including farmers markets and restaurants, visit localharvest.org. For information about the Mid-Chatham Farmers Alliance, visit harlands-creek-farm.com/mid chathamfarmerscsa.html.