From Field to Market

A Conversation with Farmer Megan Lowlor Korovesis

For many of us, a farmers market is where we stop on a Saturday morning, pick up fresh produce, and maybe chat with a vendor or two. But for small farmers, getting to market is the culmination of months of planning, planting, and hard work. As the Ypsilanti Farmers Market prepares to move downtown this season, we sat down with Megan Lowlor Korovesis of Field & Forest Farm to talk about what it means to grow food, build community, and why this market is such a special place to sell.

The First Market: "A Huge Triumph"

Julius Buzzard: Megan, I want to start with your very first day at the Ypsilanti Farmers Market. Can you take me back to that moment? What did it feel like to step behind the table as a vendor for the first time?

Megan Lowlor Korovesis: Oh, it was a huge triumph. I remember looking at our stand, filled with fresh produce, and thinking, Wow, we actually did it. There’s so much work that goes into growing food, and that first market was the moment where it all came together. Seeing people stop, buy our food, and even come back week after week—it was incredible. It made all the effort feel so worth it.

JB: What was that effort like? I think a lot of people don’t realize just how much goes into getting food to market.

MLK: Oh, absolutely. The work starts long before market day. In February—sometimes even earlier—we’re already sowing seeds. Every step after that is a hurdle: making sure the seedlings survive, preparing the fields, keeping pests away, harvesting, washing, packing. And then there’s the unpredictability of it all—maybe the weather doesn’t cooperate, or a crop doesn’t grow the way you planned. By the time you get to market, you’ve already put in months of work.

And most of what we do is by hand. Small-scale farming is physically demanding, labor-intensive work, but it’s a labor of love. When someone comes to our stand and tells us how much they enjoyed the food, it makes every bit of effort feel worthwhile.

Beyond Buying Food: Farmers Markets as Community Spaces

JB: One of the things I love about farmers markets is how they bring people together—it’s not just about buying food, it’s about connecting with the people who grow it. Has being a vendor changed the way you think about food and community?

MLK: Absolutely. When you sell at a farmers market, you’re not just putting food on a shelf and hoping people buy it—you’re talking to people, hearing their stories, answering their questions.

I love when customers come back and tell me what they made with what they bought. Maybe they tried a new recipe or discovered that a fresh, local carrot tastes completely different from what they’re used to at the grocery store. It’s also great when people ask about the farming process—why certain crops taste sweeter at certain times of the year, or how to cook a vegetable they’ve never used before. Those conversations create a deeper connection to food.

And it goes both ways. I’ve had people tell me what they’re growing in their home gardens, and we swap ideas about what’s working and what’s not. It’s this wonderful exchange of knowledge and experience that you just don’t get anywhere else.

The Market Moves Downtown: What Changes & What Stays the Same

JB: This year, the Ypsilanti Farmers Market is moving downtown to Washington Street. As a farmer, what does that shift mean for you?

MLK: I’m really excited about it. The Freight House was a great space, but downtown has so much to offer. The new location puts the market closer to other small businesses, which means people can shop at the market and then explore the area—maybe grab a coffee, check out a local shop, make a whole morning of it.

JB: Do you think it will change the feel of the market?

MLK: I think it will bring more people in, but what makes this market special will still be the same. There’s a real sense of community here. The vendors are supportive of each other, the customers are curious and engaged, and it’s a space where everyone feels welcome.

One thing I really appreciate about the Ypsi Market is that it’s intimate. Some bigger markets, like Ann Arbor’s, can be overwhelming—parking is tough, and it’s so crowded that you don’t always get the chance to talk with the farmers. Ypsi’s market is different. It’s slower-paced in the best way—you can take your time, ask questions, and really connect with the people behind the food.

Why Shopping at a Farmers Market Matters

JB: If someone has never been to the Ypsilanti Farmers Market before, how would you describe what makes it special? Why should they come out and see it for themselves?

MLK: I’d say come for the food, but stay for the experience. Yes, you’re getting fresh, local produce, but you’re also getting a chance to meet the people who grew it, to ask questions, to learn about where your food comes from. There’s a warmth to this market—people chat with each other, they linger, they share recipes. It’s not just shopping, it’s a way to be part of something bigger.

And when you buy from a local farmer, you’re not just supporting that one person—you’re investing in your community. Every dollar spent at the market stays local, helps a small farm keep going, and contributes to a food system that values sustainability, health, and connection.

What’s Next for Field & Forest Farm

JB: Before we wrap up, what’s ahead for you this season?

MLK: We’re expanding! This will be our second full growing season, and we’re adding a CSA program where people can get a weekly share of fresh produce. The Ypsilanti Farmers Market will be one of our pickup locations, which is really exciting.

We’re also continuing to experiment with new crops, moving closer to reaching our goals of being no-till, and just growing in every sense of the word. I’m looking forward to seeing familiar faces at the market, meeting new customers, and sharing the food we love to grow.

JB: It sounds like an exciting season ahead. Megan, thanks so much for taking the time to talk today—I can’t wait to visit your stand at the new downtown market.

MLK: Thank you! I’m really looking forward to it.

Visit the Ypsilanti Farmers Market

📍 New Location: 16 S. Washington Street

🗓 Opening Day: May 3, 2025 | ⏰ 9 AM – 1 PM

Want to support local farmers like Megan? Become a Friend of the Market today and invest in a thriving, just food system.

👉 Become a Friend of the Market Today!

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Mother Earth is Asking Us to be Present

By Julius Buzzard • April 1, 2026

Beloved community, April arrives the way it always does in Michigan; tentatively at first, then all at once. One morning, the ground is still stubborn and cold, and the next, something is pushing through. We call it Earth Month, but Mother Earth does not need a month. Mother Earth is always working. What Earth Month does, at its best, is return us to attention; to the slow, faithful labor happening beneath our feet, whether we notice or not. This month, I want to talk about that labor. Not just the labor of growing food, but the labor of staying whole while doing this work. The labor of belonging to one another. The labor of grief. Food sovereignty has never been only about food. It has always been about the conditions under which people live; who controls the land, who decides what is grown and for whom, whose hands are trusted to tend it, and whose labor is rendered invisible in the process. When we plant together, across our differences, we practice a different way of being in relationship with the earth and with each other. We are rehearsing the world we are trying to build. This is food sovereignty at its fullest: not a policy framework alone, but a practice of restoration. Of the land, yes. But also of people. Of community. Of self. Earth Month, then, is not just a celebration of the natural world. It is an invitation to remember that we are part of it; that the health of our soil and the health of our souls are not separate questions. This spring, I am carrying something heavier than usual. And I suspect many of you are too. Our community lost Melvin Parson. And that loss has settled into me like the coming of spring here in Michigan: quietly, then suddenly, everywhere. Melvin was a farmer, a visionary, and a neighbor. Through We The People Opportunity Farm, he built real pathways of belonging and dignity. He understood that food sovereignty is not only about growing food; it is about restoring people to possibility. Melvin planted seeds that will outlive all of us. In the soil and in the lives he helped rebuild. Rest in power, Melvin. We will keep tending what you planted. But grief does not arrive alone. And I think we need to name that. Something has been accumulating in many of us. The anxiety of not knowing whether your rent will hold, whether the program keeping your mother's medication affordable will survive the next budget cycle, whether the news tomorrow brings another cut, another threat, another loss. The weight of watching war unfold on a screen while packing your child's lunch. The low hum of uncertainty has grown so constant that many of us have stopped recognizing it as something being done to us. Mental health in our communities is rarely one dramatic moment. It is the slow erosion of the conditions that makes life feel possible. And right now, those conditions are under pressure from every direction. We are not imagining it. It is real. And it deserves to be named. I do not want to move past this moment too quickly, because I think it is asking something of us. Those of us who work in food systems, in community organizing, in the daily labor of trying to repair what has been broken, we carry a particular weight. The need is constant. The resources are not. The work is relational, which means every loss is personal. Every family facing hunger has a name. Every policy that fails our community lands in someone's body. We are not separate from the communities we serve. We are one of them. And that means the strains of this moment: economic precarity, political hostility, grief, isolation, and the relentless demand to do more with less all live within us. I have been thinking about what it means to tend ourselves the way Mother Earth tends herself. To acknowledge that fallow seasons are not failures. That rest is not retreat. That asking for help is not a weakness, but the most honest form of community care. Mother Earth is not asking us to be strong; she’s asking us to be present. This April, I am inviting Growing Hope's community into that same practice. Tend your plot, yes, but also tend your people. Check on your neighbors. Come to the farm not just to grow food, but to be held by the community. Let the soil remind you that transformation is slow, and real, and worth it. We are in this together. And together is the only way through. In solidarity, Julius P.S. If this month is weighing on you, you don't have to carry it alone. The NAMI HelpLine offers free, confidential one-on-one support, mental health information, and resources — available Monday through Friday, 10am–10pm ET. Call 1-800-950-NAMI (6264) or text NAMI to 62640. And if you need a reason to get outside and be with people, join us on April 11, 10am–1pm for our Spring Seedling Distribution.

Downtown Ypsi Deserves This

By Julius Buzzard • March 27, 2026

Beloved community, Last season, organizers of all sizes hosted 168 events at the Ypsilanti Farmers MarketPlace, from mutual aid distributions and cultural gatherings to health outreach and food policy conversations. These moments reflect how we steward shared resources to maximize good and meet multiple community needs at once. At the heart of it all is the Ypsilanti Farmers Market itself. If you’ve spent any time at the market, you know that it’s never just been a place to shop. It’s a place to linger. To listen. To organize. To feed one another, body and spirit. Together, we are building a food ecosystem where everyone has access to fresh produce and where advocacy, mutual aid, and belonging intersect. That was especially clear this year when our community faced a sudden gap in food access. When early federal funding shifts threatened nutrition dollars, our community didn’t wait. Together, we rapidly designed and launched the Ypsi SNAP Gap Program, a locally powered response that ensured hundreds of local families could continue to access food. As we move through spring, your support sustains this work; keeping vendor fees low, strengthening food access programs, and maintaining the MarketPlace as a space for belonging. Every gift sustains a place to live, organize, and nourish one another. With deep gratitude, Julius Buzzard Executive Director P.S. Your early spring support ensures we’re ready to respond when our community needs it most.

Nutrition and the Right to Thrive

By Julius Buzzard • February 26, 2026

Beloved community, March is National Nutrition Month, and across the country, we’re told to read labels more closely, count nutrients more carefully, and “eat real foods.” But nutrition is not a trend cycle; it is a question of power. I invite you to join me in curiosity and ask: Who has access to what’s being recommended? Who can afford the “real” food being celebrated? Who grows it, and who gets paid? Are we treating illness, or are we transforming the conditions that produce it? Health outcomes matter, but health equity goes further. Health equity asks why certain neighborhoods have higher rates of diabetes in the first place. It asks why fresh food feels exceptional in some zip codes and ordinary in others. It asks why farmers struggle to survive while healthcare systems expand. If we do not address land access, procurement policy, and economic extraction, then “eat real” risks becoming a quiet moral judgment instead of a structural commitment. Michigan once modeled real structural commitment through 10 Cents a Meal for Michigan's Kids & Farms ; matching school dollars to buy Michigan-grown produce and making local food standard in cafeterias. It strengthened children’s health, stabilized farmers, and shifted institutional purchasing habits. This year, the program was not funded. And as a result, students miss the chance to build lifelong food memories rooted close to home. And still, we are not retreating. Together, we are building a foundation of generational health. Generational health is the long game. It is the work of ensuring that today’s third grader doesn’t just eat a fresh apple; but grows up expecting apples from Michigan orchards in their cafeteria. It is ensuring that a teen doesn’t just volunteer at the market; but understands zoning laws, farm bills, and supply chains well enough to challenge them. This is the foundation of our theory of change. We build generational health by shaping habits early and reinforcing them often; through initiatives like our Teen Leadership Program, where young people gain the skills and critical lens to navigate and influence the food system; through field trips to our urban farm and incubator kitchen, where learning is rooted in soil; through Farm to School programming that normalizes local procurement; and through Power of Produce (POP) Club, where children practice agency by choosing fresh food for themselves. This is how we shift from reactive nutrition work to regenerative nutrition culture. We do this by pairing conversations about Food as Medicine, dietary guidelines, and eating real foods, with: An insistence that farmers are part of the prescription. Guidelines that align with affordability and access. Understanding that real foods need to be reachable, culturally meaningful, and dignified. Nutrition is not simply about what’s on a plate. It is about who has the right to thrive. This National Nutrition Month, I invite you to see nutrition not as an individual burden, but as a collective project that treats fresh food not as charity, but as infrastructure. We are cultivating a community where children expect fresh produce, where farmers are stable and respected, and where health is inherited as legacy. That is generational health. And that is the future we are growing together. In solidarity, Julius P.S. Check out the FoodCorps Policy Action Map or sign up for our Farm to School Newsletter if you’re interested in building generational health.

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