Qual Sociol

https://doi.org/10.1007/s11133-017-9370-y

Cultural Boundaries to Access in Farmers Markets

Accepting Supplemental Nutrition Assistance
Program (SNAP)

Savannah Larimore 1

# Springer Science+Business Media, LLC, part of Springer Nature 2017

Abstract The alternative food movement aims to alleviate racial and class inequalities in the
conventional American food system by providing economically and socially sustainable
markets that invigorate communities while providing access to environmentally safe, nutritious
foods. While activists and organizers reach towards this ideal, many alternative food markets
fall short, creating additional cultural barriers to food access that restrict participation among
marginalized groups. Through ethnographic methods including participant observation and
formal, semi-structured interviews, I examine the process through which these cultural barriers
are created and persist in two urban farmers markets; both markets are located in or in very
close proximity to food deserts and accept Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program
(SNAP; formerly known as food stamps). I find that one field site has been successful in
integrating low-income, minority consumers into the market economy, while the other field
site has not. I identify three salient narratives—norms of market participation, the concept of
community, and perceptions of low-income consumers—that differ in content across markets.
In addition, based on interviews and field notes, I describe the alternative food system
experiences of low-income, racial minority consumers who reside in food deserts and or
receive SNAP. I build on previous theories of cultural distinction and boundary maintenance in
alternative food systems and offer several implications based on these findings.

Keywords Alternative Food Systems . Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program . Cultural

Sociology . Boundary Work . Food Access

Alternative food systems (referred to as AFS throughout for simplicity) are typically thought of
as any means of food production or consumption that are outside the scope of the conventional
food system, which scholars and activists consider as unable to provide safe, nutritious food in

* Savannah Larimore
shlarimo@uw.edu

1
Sociology Department, University of Washington, 211 Savery Hall, Seattle, WA 98115, USA
 Qual Sociol

an environmentally and socially just manner across populations (Nousianien et al. 2009). AFS
can include, but are not limited to, community-supported agriculture (CSA, box schemes),
community gardens, and farmers markets (Macias 2008). AFS intend to combat the negative
consequences of conventional food systems, including food inequalities and health disparities,
which result, in part, from unequal patterns of food access across social groups (see Larson
et al. 2009 and Walker et al. 2010 for reviews).
While early activists and scholars envisioned AFS as providing economically and socially
sustainable markets that invigorate communities and provide access to environmentally safe,
nutritious foods (Dahlberg 1986; Feenstra 2002), AFS organizers often fall short of this ideal,
with critical investigations into AFS showing that social justice goals are the most difficult to
actualize in practice (Alkon 2012; Allen 2008; DeLind 2011). Even when AFS organizers
attempt to encourage participation among traditionally underrepresented groups (e.g. low-
income consumers, racial minorities, consumers residing in food deserts) through strategic
action or incentives, the typical AFS consumer is overwhelmingly affluent, white, and resides
in neighborhoods with, at minimum, adequate access to safe and nutritious foods (Hinrichs
2000). As such, many previously studied AFS demonstrate what Slocum (2007) refers to as
Bprogressive whiteness,^ where organizers reach out towards underrepresented communities
but despite geographic closeness maintain a cultural distance and create exclusionary spaces
Bin spite of themselves^ (Slocum 2007, 520).
What this body of research suggests is that the decision to participate in AFS among certain
social groups may be restricted by cultural barriers in addition to or more so than economic or
time constraints. Still, studies investigating cultural barriers to AFS participation are few in
number and research sites have been primarily limited to spaces that are occupied by middle- to
upper-middle-class and/or white consumers. As such, it is not clear as to whether the lack of
participation by underrepresented groups is due to the fact that no low-income or racial minority
consumers live in the immediate areas surrounding these markets, or if the cultural repertoires
attached to these markets are indeed exclusionary to the extent that they are the cause of this
underrepresentation. Less studied, and therefore less understood, is how cultural barriers
operate in AFS spaces that make a concerted effort to serve traditionally underrepresented
communities by diminishing the material and spatial constraints typically associated with AFS
participation.
To understand these processes, I conducted an ethnographic study using a unique sample:
two urban farmers markets that operate in or in very close proximity to food deserts, have
socioeconomically and racially diverse communities in the immediate area, and accept Sup-
plemental Nutrition Assistance Program (SNAP, formerly food stamps). For these farmers
markets, the geographic and time constraints typically associated with AFS participation have
been diminished. In addition, by accepting SNAP—which I will use interchangeably with
BEBT,^ an acronym for Electronic Benefit Card—these markets have also made a deliberate
effort to reduce economic barriers to participation.1
The purpose of this article is to better understand why interventions, specifically those in the form
of AFS—which aim to alleviate unequal patterns of food access across social groups—often fail to
reach the very communities they set out to serve. While other studies have focused on AFS that are

1
To ensure that economic barriers to participation were diminished in each market, I conducted a comparative
analysis of food prices at each farmers market in my sample and at the nearest supermarket in the one-mile radius
surrounding the market. The resultant data show that for similar items, prices at each market are comparable to
those of the nearest supermarket.
Qual Sociol

located in or in close proximity to food deserts, socioeconomically diverse, or racially diverse

neighborhoods or AFS that accept SNAP, this study explicitly focuses on two AFS sites with all of
these characteristics. Drawing from previous research on this topic, I ask if the same exclusionary
cultural practice or narratives observed in other studies also exist in my research sites, despite
operating in underserved, diverse areas and accepting SNAP. In addition, through detailed interac-
tions and interviews with consumers who are low-income, racial minorities, SNAP recipients, and/
or reside within a USDA-identified food desert, I broaden the scope of research on cultural
distinction and boundary work in AFS to include voices and experiences that have yet to be fully
explored in existing research. This study therefore adds a unique case to the body of knowledge on
this topic and introduces the lived experiences and adaptive strategies of disadvantaged consumers
who actively participate in AFS. Based on my observations and interviews with market participants,
I describe three narratives—norms of market participation, the concept of community, and percep-
tions of low-income users—that differ in content across markets. From my findings, I build on
previous theories of cultural distinction and boundary maintenance in AFS and offer several
recommendations to remedy these barriers.

Theoretical Frameworks

To orient my analysis, I utilize two theoretical frameworks. I first draw from Pierre Bourdieu’s
(1984) theory of class distinction, applying the primary concepts of cultural capital, habitus,
and field to the cultural distinctions between the conventional food system and AFS. Here, I
review the literature on unequal participation in AFS by low-income and racial minority
consumers, highlighting how these disparities align with Bourdieu’s theoretical concepts.
My second theoretical framework draws on Michèle Lamont’s conceptualization of symbolic
and social boundaries between social actors. Drawing from Lamont’s (Lamont et al. 1996,
Lamont and Molnar 2002) work, I apply the concept of Bboundary work^ to explain the
process through which producers and consumers maintain the spaces and practices of AFS as
for certain groups and not for others. A review of relevant research demonstrates the existence
of boundary work in food preferences and consumption. These two practices, class distinction
and boundary work, do not exist separate from one another, but instead occur simultaneously
by reinforcing differences in taste and differentiation of space based on class, race, ethnicity,
gender, and other social characteristics.

Distinction in Alternative Food Systems

Bourdieu theorized that individuals possess subsidiary characteristics, such as preferences for
certain foods, which function as real principles (1984). Preferences in food, while restricted by
availability and affordability, are also constrained by these subsidiary characteristics that form
a consumer’s habitus. Habitus, in the context of food preferences, refers to the norms for
consumption that are created and maintained through a consumer’s class position and lived
experiences (Bourdieu 1984). The habitus can also be described as a set of dispositions,
forming in childhood and lasting the duration of one’s life, which generate individual practices
and perceptions. This concept inextricably links objective social structures, such as class
position, to subjective Btastes.^ In Bourdieu’s (1984) food space, it is apparent that preferences
for certain foods are linked to class status, with upper-class consumers preferring delicate,
exotic foods and lower-class consumers favoring plentiful, rich foods (Guthman 2003).
 Qual Sociol

Researchers studying consumer differences in perceptions of food and food markets have
observed the existence of shared practices by members of a given social class. This is evident
in the class disparities in AFS participation, which have been previously noted. In Europe,
which has had a lengthy history of what we refer to as alternative consumption in the United
States (Trubek and Bowen 2008), researchers have documented clear divisions in food-related
preferences between social classes. In a study on participation in box schemes (CSA) by
English and French consumers, the common consumer was found to be affluent and held high-
status occupations (Brown et al. 2009). In a study of Greek consumers, those who tended to
actively avoid organic products were also consumers of low-culture forms of media, had lower
levels of education, lower levels of income, and had rural or blue-collar occupations
(Fotopoulos and Krystallis 2002). This pattern holds in the United States, where consumers
and producers involved in AFS tend to be economically or socially middle class (Conner et al.
2010), possessing monetary wealth to buy products but just as importantly they also possess
knowledge of the politics of alternative food (Slocum 2007, 2008).
Knowledge of the politics of the alternative food movement among consumers as docu-
mented by Slocum (2007) is an example of cultural capital that is specific to alternative food
systems (see also Johnston and Baumann 2010). Cultural capital, derived from an actor’s
habitus, is conceptualized as familiarity with the culture of the dominant group. In Bourdieu’s
(1984) theory of class distinction, cultural capital is acquired and transmitted through family as
well as diffuse or institutionalized forms of education and becomes internalized (Bourdieu
1984). As Slocum (2007) notes, alternative food consumers possess an appropriate form of
cultural capital that is formed through their class position and the learned knowledge afforded
to them about alternative food. Projecting knowledge of or indicating a preference for the
dominant culture can promote social inclusion, which in the case of AFS, can allow access to
more nutritious and safe foods (Bourdieu 1984). In AFS, cultural capital can be thought of as
the degree to which actors embody an elite-eating repertoire, which aligns with the beliefs and
behaviors of producers and privileged consumers. This repertoire also includes an ethical
component by which patterns of alternative food consumption or preferences for nouvelle
cuisine serve as symbolic capital in alternative food systems, representing ethical distinctions
among consumers (Guthman 2003; Johnston et al. 2011). Low-income consumers without this
specific form of cultural capital are in turn labeled as immoral by their privileged peers,
potentially legitimizing social inequalities within the food system (Johnston et al. 2011).
Another concept that is applicable in the restrictive nature of AFS culture is the concept of
field. A field is a system of social positions and relations, in which agents compete for capital
using the capital that they already possess through their class habitus (Johnson 1993). In AFS,
consumers compete for ethical and moral privilege using their cultural knowledge of these
food systems (Johnston et al. 2011). As such, AFS can be considered a type of field. Since
competition in alternative food systems is not for economic capital but instead for symbolic
capital (Guthman 2003), AFS can also be considered fields of restricted production (Bourdieu
1993). In contrast to large-scale cultural production (in this case large-scale conventional
agriculture), fields of restricted production develop their own criteria for evaluation of products
that are not only for the privileged consumer but also for a peer group of fellow competitors
(i.e. other AFS producers). As a result, fields of restricted production are self-governing,
defining who is capable of producing a cultural good as well as who is capable of consuming
that good (Bourdieu 1985). AFS fit this definition and through processes of cultural compe-
tition become synonymous with elite culture and exclude working-class consumers through an
elite eating repertoire that favors privileged consumers (Hinrichs 2000; Johnston et al. 2011).
Qual Sociol

Boundary Work in Alternative Food Systems

Boundary work in AFS can be thought of as the enactment of class distinction through the use of
cultural capital within the given field. Lamont (Lamont et al. 1996, Lamont and Molnar 2002)
suggests that patterns of taste bring people together, and therefore are crucial in the creation of social
networks and a collective identity. While Bourdieu (1984) focused solely on class differentiation,
boundary work widens this focus to show how other social characteristics such as race or gender are
used to create cultural distinctions between groups of people (Lamont and Molnar 2002). Differen-
tiation occurs between groups with different tastes, with the elite class seeking superiority over an
out-group, or lower class (Lamont and Molnar 2002). In research on consumer preferences, the
primary opposition is between tastes of luxury and tastes of necessity (Bourdieu 1984; Guthman
2003). The elite class culture aligns with tastes of luxury, seeking moral and ethical superiority over
the lower class. Through the process of boundary work, social groups maintain the cultural distance
between one another, often doing so unintentionally.
AFS and those who participate in them perform boundary maintenance through exclusion-
ary discourses rooted in perceptions of naturally occurring preferences or values among
consumers. Because the elite-eating repertoire that permeates AFS is based on cultural
practices of affluent, predominately white consumers, the social boundaries of race and class
are coupled with symbolic boundaries. One CSA manager concludes that, BHispanics aren’t
into fresh, local, organic,^ when assessing the lack of minority participants in the program
(Guthman 2008). To quote another producer within AFS, B[The people who participate in
CSA are] a lot like us [educated, middle class]^ (Macias 2008). This statement reaffirms the
differences that exist between people who have the luxury and cultural capital to participate in
AFS, and those who do not.
While the above examples focus on the ways in which AFS producers or elite consumers
perform boundary work that does not mean that low-income and racial minority consumers do
not engage in these practices as well. Beagan and Chapman (2012) found that racial minority
and low-income consumers conceptualize healthful foods that are valued in the dominant
eating repertoire as useless to them. Additional research finds that low-income and racial
minority customers report discomfort in AFS spaces, describing AFS and the foods sold within
these spaces as Bnot for them^ (Alkon and McCullen 2011; Guthman 2008). This notion of
boundary work Bfrom below^ can best be summarized in one racial minority woman’s reaction
to healthy food being handed out in her neighborhood and her reasoning for not using it:
BBecause they don’t sell no food! All they got is birdseed…Who are they to tell me how to
eat? I don’t want that stuff. It’s not food. I need to be able to feed my family^ (Guthman 2008).
Minority consumers also resist the elite-eating repertoire as a means to maintain their cultural
identity and resist assimilation (Beagan and Chapman 2012). In these discourses, we find
examples of producers and consumers—privileged or not—actively maintaining the distance
between groups who participate in AFS and those who do not.
The above excerpts provide examples of colorblind racism in alternative food systems.
Colorblindness is the denial of whiteness as privilege thereby refusing to view race as an
important social issue. Boundary work in AFS emphasizes a cultural racism frame of
colorblind racism by claiming that differences in consumption are cultural components of a
given racial group, such as the CSA manager’s explanation for a lack of participation among
Hispanic consumers (Bonilla-Silva 2006). This concept can be expanded to include presenta-
tions of food preferences among the working-class as Bclassless,^ despite the constraints that
lead to distinct patterns of consumption (Johnston et al. 2011). As noted in my discussion of
 Qual Sociol

alternative food systems as fields of restricted production, AFS are arranged in a way that
favors the cultural practices of the dominant group whose members are typically white and
affluent. The behaviors of these privileged consumers are taken to be self-evident and
universal while ignoring structural barriers that limit the degree to which certain social groups
can participate in these practices.
Conceptualizing AFS as fields of restricted production (see discussion of distinction in AFS)
helps to explain how boundary making processes create or maintain raceless and classless discourses
in these spaces. For consumers with the necessary cultural and economic resources, their ability to
participate fully in AFS has been conceptualized as a form of personal choice that coincidentally
aligns with race and class (Slocum 2007). Additionally, the behaviors of privileged white consumers
are labeled as the Bcorrect^ way to participate in sustainable consumption, devaluing all other efforts
at sustainability by other social groups as Bincorrect^ (Guthman 2003). In doing so, AFS embody a
specific form of whiteness, or white culture, valorizing a set of cultural practices produced from the
structural advantages affordedtoaffluent whites(Frankenberg1993; Slocum2007).Bynormalizing
the behaviors of privileged consumers, the absence of non-whites and working-class bodies in
alternative food systems is then assumed to be a result of differences in preference or morals,
masking structural and cultural exclusion. Drawing symbolic boundaries without acknowledging
social boundaries like race or class is problematic because they validate disparate levels of
participation, naturalizing the consumption of alternative foods—which tend to be the most safe
and nutritious—with white, affluent customers.

Methodology

Data for my analysis comes from three sources: field notes recording events and interactions that
occurred during participant observation, informal interviews conducted during observations, and
formal, semi-structured interviews conducted outside of observations. All data were collected
during a five-month period from July 2013 to December 2013. While five months may initially
seem like too short of a period to conduct ethnographic research, approaching this study with a
focused research question, grounded in the existing literature, allowed me to conduct high-quality
research in a limited amount of time (Bernard 2011). During this time, I conducted 50 hours of
formal observation at each field site, for a total of 100 hours between field sites. At both sites, I
took on the role of a participant observer by volunteering at each market. As a volunteer, I
regularly opened the markets and closed them, talked with customers about products for sale,
accepted payment from customers, and received deliveries from farmers.
During observation, I was able to conduct informal interviews. These interviews, which are
simply organically occurring conversations, were used to supplement field notes and formal
interviews as well as uncover new topics of interest (Bernard 2011). Informal interviews were
recorded as part of my field notes, which were electronically transcribed after every observa-
tion from jottings I recorded during observation. These field notes recorded interactions
between participants in the market space, customer demographics, physical attributes of the
market space, my own reactions to each observation, and other relevant details within the
scope of this research project. Recording my own reactions in field notes also allowed me to
remain reflexive throughout the data collection process. By December 2013, I had recorded
over 200 pages of field notes, which I used in analysis as a complement to formal interviews.
Formal, semi-structured, in-depth interviews were conducted as a means to better under-
stand the mechanisms through which cultural boundaries are created or maintained and how
Qual Sociol

farmers markets become race and class specific spaces. As opposed to field notes—which
record what people say and what they do—interviews record what people say they do and
allow respondents to explain the motivation for their action. Therefore, my interview protocol
included questions that allowed for discussion about the experiences of consumers and
producers at the market, with opportunities for elaboration and probing. I was able to recruit
and interview 12 respondents, six at Southside and six at North End; five were producers and
seven were consumers. I attempted to produce a sample for interviews that is representative of
the racial and socioeconomic composition of the participants at each field site. Interviews were
conducted either by phone or in person at a time and place that was convenient for the
respondent. Lastly, all interviews were complemented by a post-interview form, recording
notes taken during the interview and preliminary identification of interview themes.
All sources of written data—formal interviews, informal interviews, field notes, and post-
interview forms—were electronically transcribed for analysis in NVivo 11, a qualitative data
analysis software program. My research focus was to determine if the same exclusionary
discourses observed in previous research pervaded my research sites, despite the efforts on
behalf of both farmers markets included to operate in disadvantaged communities and accept
SNAP. To do so, I used open-coding content analysis and axial coding techniques to identify
themes within and across formal interviews and field notes, which were the primary units of
analysis for this study. While I used theories or concepts developed from previous research
such as cultural capital, boundary work, and colorblind racism (Alkon and McCullen 2011;
Beagan and Chapman 2012; Guthman 2008; Slocum 2007) to inform my analysis, I used a
grounded theoretical approach to develop coding categories as well. Since the farmers markets
included in this study differ from those included in previous research (e.g. are geographically
located in or close proximity to socioeconomically and racial diverse urban food deserts,
accept SNAP), a grounded theoretical approach is necessary to identify themes unique to the
sample.
Following this approach, I used open-coding techniques to develop an initial coding
structure from one interview and one field note. That coding structure was then applied to
subsequent interviews or field notes, respectively, while I continued open-coding for new
themes as they emerged across interviews and field notes. New themes were then added to the
coding structure and applied across their respective data sources. This coding approach,
constant comparison, allows for inductive generation of themes and repertoires across data
sources while ensuring theoretical saturation (Glaser and Strauss 1967). Using these methods, I
identified three themes: norms of market participation, the concept of community, and
perceptions of low-income consumers.

Profile of Sample

I selected my field sites by first identifying the universe of farmers markets accepting SNAP in my
target location: an urban area in the southeastern United States. From this population, I excluded all
marketsthatwerenotopenyear-roundand/ordidnothavearaciallyandsocioeconomicallydiverseset
of neighborhoods in the one-mile radius surrounding the market. I did so because by not operating
year-round and by operating in racially and/or socioeconomically homogenous areas, geographic and
temporal barriers to participation in each market among certain populations still exist. After applying
these exclusion criteria, I was left with two field sites: Southside Market and North End Produce. Prior
to formal data collection I visited both sites informally to ensure that each market was still in operation.
 Qual Sociol

It was during these informal visits I first became aware that while both sites were similar in many
ways—providing common food items such as fruits, vegetables, meats, cheese, dairy and other
miscellaneous items such as olive oil, chips, and soda—each site was also very unique.

The Markets

Southside: The ‘Yuppie’ Market

It’s Saturday morning and I’m walking through a large bay door into Southside Market. It’s just past
nine o’clock in the morning, but the renovated brick warehouse the market calls home is already filled
with echoes of farmers and vendors describing their produce to customers, groups of customers
laughing over coffee at one of the tables scattered throughout the market, and Bob the pickle vendor
banginghisplasticladleonthetablewhilesinging, BIt’sasourday!^ Hangingfromtheceilingarelarge
posters with stock photos of chickens, cows, eggs, grass and other symbols that evoke a romanticized
rural imaginary (Alkon 2013). Many vendors have adorned their stands with stickers and signs
advocating local food consumption and advertising upcoming events including a BMarch Against
Monsanto.^ The market itself is comprised of a variety of local farmers, ranchers, food hub managers,
and other vendors, all of who operate within or source products from a 100-mile radius of the city. The
market also houses a local artisan coffee shop, shares a parking lot with a successful raw vegan
restaurant, and operates in a neighborhood that has witnessed large-scale urban revitalization efforts
over the past few decades. Buildings in the area, such as the one the market operates in, have been
renovated, a light rail has been built directly next to the market, and housing prices have gone up.
However, these revitalization efforts stop abruptly at Southside Market such that if you were to
draw a circle with a one-mile radius around the market, that circle would simultaneously include
some of the highest median household incomes for a census tract in the city, as well as some of the
highest rates of poverty. The communities immediately east of the market are also predominately
white and have low levels of SNAP receipt while the opposite holds for the communities to the
west of the market (US Census 2013). In addition, the latter has also been classified by the USDA
as an urban food desert, meaning that a significant number or share of residents in these
communities are both low-income and have low-access to supermarkets (ERS 2013).
Despite the market’s proximity to low-income, predominately non-white neighborhoods and
concerted efforts by producers to incorporate these underrepresented groups into the market economy,
the participants that fill Southside Market and overwhelmingly white and middle class. Customers are
mostly college educated, hold professional occupations, and tend to be female. Producers in the space
share many of these same characteristics, although they tend to be lower income. Therefore, the
consumer base at Southside does not reflect the demographics of the communities immediately
surrounding the market. As such, while the market is bustling with energy and producers are friendly,
evoking a sense of inclusivity, the market falls short of this goal in practice. It is readily acknowledged
that the market lacks diversity among the consumer base and it is the consensus among producers and
myself that the Btypical^ person at Southside is white, affluent, and college educated, earning
Southside the nickname Bthe yuppie market^ as reported to me by several producers.

North End Produce: The Neighborhood Store

After driving twenty minutes north, I take the exit for North End Produce. While I can see a
cluster of skyscrapers in my rear-view mirror, the pot-hole-filled roads and family-owned
Qual Sociol

businesses I pass on the way to North End remind me of a small town. After a short drive away
from the interstate, I pull into the gravel parking lot at North End: an unadorned space with no
markers to distinguish its status as a farmers market except for a large white sign issued by the
county health department strung across the front of a stand, reading, BWe Gladly Accept EBT.^
Family-owned and operating in the same area for over 40 years, North End Produce is as much
a community-gathering place as it is a place to buy food. During the colder months of the year,
customers and producers would gather indoors to sit in old office chairs and catch up, joking
and laughing with one another. In the summer, the producers and I would sit on handmade
tables near the cash register, talking to customers and offering samples of fresh watermelon.
However, on several visits to the market these light-hearted conversations would often turn
to discussing more serious matters. Both producers and consumers at North End were keenly
aware that the communities surrounding the market were experiencing levels of poverty and
food stamp receipt above the county-wide averages (US Census 2013). Producers also
acknowledged that they were operating in a food desert, although they felt the term Bproduce
desert^ was more fitting (ERS 2013). In addition, many discussions between producers and
consumers involved reports of recent crime incidents. The market itself had been the victim of
robbery and vandalism several times and on one occasion, a female customer warned me that I
should keep a close eye on my purse, else one of the pedestrians using the market as a shortcut
to the neighboring gas station would run off with it.
Still, despite these maladies, the market maintained a reliable and diverse customer base
that was largely non-white and working to lower-middle class, representative of the surround-
ing communities (US Census 2013). Also, many of the customers to the market were the
children or grandchildren of people who had shopped at the market when it first opened almost
half a century ago. The current owners were Jennifer (white, female)—whose father had
started the business—Dale (white, male) her husband and Dennis (white, male), Dale’s son
from a previous marriage. Jennifer was a central feature of the market. When she was present
at the market she was certain to greet every customer in her deep Southern accent with a warm
welcome and when she was absent—which was often, due to various medical reasons—
customers would ask where she was and how she was doing. If Southside was the Byuppie^
market, North End Produce was the Bneighborhood store^: a modest space that was a focal
point for a community that, for the most part, had fallen on hard times.

Findings

The primary purpose of this research project is to determine whether patterned, exclusionary
cultural practices are present in my sample, despite purposeful and persistent efforts to
incorporate low-income or non-white consumers and food desert residents into each market.
In addition, my interviews with low-income and racial minority consumers provide unique
insights into the process of boundary making in AFS not fully explored in previous research. I
have already noted the contrast in consumer demographics between each market and while
some of this difference can be attributed to neighborhood demographics, I found that many of
the same exclusionary discourses observed in previous research—as well as new narratives
specific to this case—arose in my analysis of field notes and interview transcripts.
These observable differences urged me to ask Bwhy^ and Bhow^ is there still a difference in
low-income and non-white consumer representation between the two spaces when both
markets have diminished geographic and economic barriers to participation? In an attempt
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to address these questions, I have outlined three salient narratives that varied across the market
space and correspond to AFS participation among traditionally underrepresented consumer
groups. First, I describe how producers construct narratives around norms of market partici-
pation that influence their perceptions of themselves as well as consumers, particularly low-
income and racial minority consumers. Second, I describe differing concepts of Bcommunity^
between the two markets. Lastly, I elaborate on how perceptions of low-income users among
producers differ from the practices and beliefs of the low-income consumers I interviewed. I
describe each narrative in detail below. In my conclusion, I show how differences in narratives
across research sites support or contradict previous research on cultural boundary production
and maintenance in AFS.

Southside

Norms of Market Participation: Producers Teach, Consumers Learn

When asked about their role in the market, producers at Southside vocalized a simultaneous
experience of personal growth as well as a belief that they were contributing positively to the
local community and enriching the lives of customers at the market by teaching them about
alternative food production and consumption. Rebekah (producer, white, female) tells me, BI
feel like especially this neighborhood, a lot of people don’t know what to do with food and
they’re slowly learning and I feel like I’m helping, a lot.^ Another Southside producer, Josie
(white, female), expressed similar sentiments in her interview.
I like learning the story of the local food. I like trying and tasting the local food. I like
getting to know the farmers and learning what their stories are and what has led them to
where they are. I like sharing those stories with shoppers at the market and helping
shoppers realize what it is about the food that’s special and why it’s special and why it’s
relevant to them and to this area. I like the way it connects me, you know, more deeply
to this whole area. So, I guess, as I talk too, that I realize working at the market kind of
puts me in the center of all that because then I get a piece of all of it. You know, I get to
tell the story, I get to learn the story, I get to have a connection to the farmer and the
consumer and I get to help facilitate those interactions.
For Southside producers, these educational interactions with customers were central to their
motivations for participating in the market economy. Like Josie, Layla (white, female) tells me
that she became a producer because she Breally wanted to connect consumers with farmers.^
These motivations reflect the Bmissionary-like^ repertoires observed by Lyson (2014) as well
as the action of Bbringing good food to others^ observed by Guthman (2008). In this way,
producers viewed themselves as educators, making a positive impact on the communities
surrounding the market.
These self-concepts are important to highlight as Southside producers approached interac-
tions with all consumers, regardless of race, class, or other characteristics, in the role of an
educator. However, while producers acknowledged that all consumers required some educa-
tion, the content of instruction varied based on consumer characteristics and behaviors. Based
on my interviews with producers and observational field notes, I identified three broad
categories of consumers at Southside: the active consumer, the passive consumer, and the
unaware consumer. In Table 1 I summarize the characteristics of each of these consumers and
below, I describe how producers adapted their roles as educators to fit each type of consumer.
Qual Sociol

Table 1 Southside Consumer Types

Active Passive Unaware

Sub-group Minority Majority Minority

Presence
Demographics White, middle- to White, middle- to Working-class, low-income,
upper-middle-class upper-middle-class SNAP recipient
Pre-existing High Medium Low
Knowledge
Willingness to High High Low
Learn
Need for Low Medium High
Education
Educational Extend and specialize Introduce and extend Introduce healthy eating
Message AFS Knowledge AFS Knowledge knowledge

The first type of consumer I observed was the Bactive consumer.^ Active consumers tended to be
white and middle to upper-middle class. These consumers shopped at the market regularly and were
highly concerned with how food items were handled, both within the market space and during
production. On one occasion, a white, elderly, female customer became physically aggravated when
she thought I was handling her lettuce too roughly. During a separate interaction, a white, middle-
aged, female customer requested produce from a specific farmer. While this customer struggled to
pronounce the farmer’s name, she adamantly claimed that she knew them personally. After
purchasing a few items, she became alarmed that she might have bought produce that was grown
by someone other than this specific farmer and asked me to check and make sure I had given her the
correct produce. Active consumers would also make disapproving comments and gestures when
they were told that certain items were not certified organic, or that the chickens that laid the eggs we
sold were not on a soy-free diet.
To Southside producers, these comments and concerns signaled a Bpassion^ for AFS. Rebekah
refers to active consumers as Ba small knit group of people that really do understand [the market].^
Similarly, Layla tells me that active consumers are the market’s Btarget^ population.
I would say our target customer—which is the person that I think is going to keep
coming back to shop multiple days a week—is going to be a savvy, educated mom of
young children and she is really passionate about what she puts on her dinner table, what
she puts in their lunchbox, what they eat for breakfast. I mean somebody who really has
that passion for that kind of knowledge. But there are a lot more people to engage.
What Layla refers to as Bthat kind of knowledge^ was most often signaled through the use of
key terms and phrases (e.g. Bmorganic,^2 Bsoy-free^) or by listing, even incorrectly, the names
of local farmers. Through these specialized exchanges, producers believed that privileged,
active consumers wanted to Bbe part of the movement too^ and noted feeling more connected
to these customers.
While producers considered active consumers—who comprised a minority of the consumer
population at Southside—to be highly aware of and interested in alternative food, they
maintained their roles as educators when interacting with active consumers by introducing
them to unconventional types of produce. In our interview, Rebekah tells me that active

2
BMorganic^ is short for Bmore than organic.^ This term implies that in addition to organic farming practices,
growers participate in sustainable practices as well.
 Qual Sociol

customers Bhave a lot of questions [about] something like Jerusalem artichokes. People have
never seen that before and it’s great to introduce people to different ways to use it and the
health benefits of it.^ For active customers, the content of education was on extending and
specializing, rather than introducing, AFS knowledge.
The secondtypeof Southside consumersI observedwere Bpassiveconsumers.^ Passive consumers
were the largest consumer sub-population at Southside and were demographically similar to active
consumers. Passive consumers also presented themselves as knowledgeable of AFS through the use of
specialized phrases and behaviors, but in a way that Southside producers interpreted as less authentic
thanactive consumers.Indeed,passive consumers Iinterviewed orobservedsaw the market as a leisure
activityandregularlyusedthemarketforpurposesotherthanshoppingforfood.Theseconsumersoften
used the market space to conduct business meetings or to meet friends. During our interview, Tyler—a
passive consumer and white male—says that he and his partner see the market as a leisure event.
We noticed the market [one day] and it’s the kind of thing that we like doing, you know?
When we have extra time just to go out and do any old thing, you know, [like] go for a
drive. We often find ourselves doing stuff like that as well or like going to a movie. So
[going to Southside] just forms part of that experience for us…just sort of spending time
out. I wouldn’t say, typically, that we go to Southside as a destination for a purpose—like
we would go to a grocery store for instance. I mean we’ve talked about that off hand
from time to time about how neat it would be to just go [do our] weekly shopping at
Southside but for some reason it just never happens.
While producers encouraged this passive behavior to a certain extent, Layla, like others also
admitted that they Bdon’t love [when] people want to have a conversation and they leave
without buying anything.^ To producers like Melanie (white, female) passive consumers were
often seen as more interested in shopping at the market as a trend and less interested in
shopping at the market for Bthe cause.^
Despite these issues, Southside producers also favored passive consumers because passive
consumers displayed just enough knowledge, through the use of specialized language, to
imply a budding interest in AFS. Additionally, producers believed that this group had more to
learn from them than active consumers. In other words, passive consumers—much more so
than active consumers—allowed producers to fully engage in their self-conceived role as
educators. During our interview, Melanie describes educating passive consumers as an initially
Bcomplicated process^ but goes on to say that these same customers are Binterested when they
come to the market to have a conversation and to learn something new.^
I think a lot of the people [who shop at Southside] are usually—even if they’re not used to the
idea of shopping Bfarmer’s market style^—they’re pretty open to learning. They have a lot of
knowledge themselves about a more sustainable lifestyle and there’s a lot of conversation that
can go on between vendors and customers. I think generally people are pretty interested when
they come to the market to have a conversation and to learn something new. I think a good
amount of [customers] do [already know about sustainable practices]. They’ve done a little
researchandhave kindofheardabouthowgreatorganicfoodisandhavestartedtoheardifferent
problems like with bees and different stuff [concerning] agriculture and just the food industry
and they’ve come hoping that they can learn more and sort of be a part of the movement too.
For passive customers, then, the content of education was centered primarily on introducing
and perhaps extending AFS knowledge. Producers believed that passive consumers were
interested in learning about AFS because despite seeing the market as a leisure activity,
Qual Sociol

passive consumers were still aware of the aforementioned specialized phrases commonly
employed in conversations concerning AFS. This trait, which active consumers also possessed,
established a sense of shared interests between producer and consumers.
I will save my description of the third type of Southside consumer I identified, the Bunaware
consumer,^ for my discussion of a separate theme. For now, I focus on the notion of shared interests
between active consumers, passive consumers, and producers as these interests—whether real or
perceived—were central to how community was conceptualized and defined at Southside.

The Concept of Community: Shared Culture

Alkon (2012) notes that definitions or conceptualizations of community are about both
collectivity and exclusion, defining an in-group as well as an out-group. In previous research,
what is often perceived as the Bcorrect^ way to do alternative and ethical consumption aligns
with practices that favor consumers with privilege (Johnston and Baumann 2010). This
dominant ideology of alternative consumerism holds true at Southside, where producers were
highly active in defining what market participation, and therefore the market community,
should or should not look like.
As mentioned in the previous section, producers saw themselves as the center of the market
and considered themselves to be Blike a family.^ According to Layla:
I do [feel comfortable at the market], this is like my second home. You know, as much as
I try to not get too buddy-buddy with the [producers] because at the end of the day it is a
business and I have to, I have to keep the perspective of the business, we spend a lot of
time together and so we do care about each other and you know, we are a family of sorts.
In our interview, Layla goes on to tell me that she has strict criteria for appropriate behavior
among producers. As director of Southside, she chooses not to endorse vendors who don’t
appear invested in the market. For example, Layla has been approached by several potential
vendors who only wanted to operate their stand on Saturday, which is the most lucrative day
for the market. She sees behaviors such as this as in direct opposition to the type of community
she and other producers hope to foster at Southside.
Producers extend this restricted conceptualization of participation and community to con-
sumers. Layla tells me that, B[Producers and consumers] may not have a lot of other things in
common but the passion for local, the sharing of ideas and what to do with things. It’s just all those
things that community are about. It gives us a shared story.^ This notion of a shared interest in AFS
was critical in determining how producers interacted with consumers. In our interview, Melanie
describes how this perceived common ground allowed her to feel more connected to consumers.
I think that the majority of the customers that come in have chosen Southside for the fact
that it’s all local vendors and I think just having that understanding is kind of like a
bonding point that they care enough to shop there and care about the going local
movement. And, obviously because I work there I feel strongly about it, so I think
knowing that you’re both working for the same cause and that you each have your own
part in it, I think that’s why it feels so comfortable.
However, these positive interactions between producers and consumers were dependent on
whether or not consumers were able to appropriately signal an interest in AFS through the use
of specialized phrases, deemed to be Bcorrect^ forms of consumer behavior by Southside
producers.
 Qual Sociol

These keyterms andphrases (e.g.Bmorganic,^ Bsoy-free,^ andnames oflocal farmers) operate as

a specific form of cultural capital that privileged consumers were able to signal during interactions
with producers at Southside. In interactions with consumers, producers interpreted the use of these
phrases as a Bpassion^ for AFS and notedfeelingmore connected toprivileged consumers as a result.
This specialized knowledge was perceived as a Bshared interest^ in AFS between producers and
consumers. However, as Tyler and other passive consumers show, a knowledge of these terms or
behaviors does not necessarily correspond to a Bpassion^ for AFS. Still, by favoring this specific
form of cultural capital, producers constructed an abstract, cultural, esoteric definition of community
that was inclusive of consumers who, as a result of their economic resources, were able to signal
shared interests with producers but exclusive of consumers who did not possess these resources.
Without these resources at their disposal, low-income consumers, racial minorities, and SNAP users
were perceived as unaware of and disinterested in AFS.

Perceptions of Low-Income Consumers: Unaware and Disinterested

Throughout the course of this research project it became clear that producers at Southside held
certain assumptions about low-income consumers that can be categorized into one overarching
Bmyth^: A belief that low-income consumers don’t know or care about AFS and that as a
result, these same consumers did not regularly incorporate whole, fresh foods into their diets.
This myth contributed to the perception of low-income consumers as Bunaware^ consumers.
The unaware consumer is the third and final type of Southside consumer I identified. Unaware
consumers—who were demographically low-income, working class, and/or SNAP recipients
and were implied to be racial minorities—were believed to be less engaged in conversations with
producers because they didn’t mention specific terms or ask as many questions as their privileged
counterparts. Recounting an interaction with a SNAP user, Melanie tells me that this customer
Bheld back and didn’t talk as much^ as she had experienced with other customers nor did she Bask
about where [the produce] was grown and the different farming practices.^ Melanie goes on to tell
me that the lack of engagement makes her feel less connected to low-income consumers.
However, as I will show in my discussion of findings at North End, low-income consumers do
have knowledge of AFS, but they do not possess the cultural capital (e.g. common AFS terms and
names of local farmers) necessary to convey this knowledge to producers at Southside.
To Southside producers, unaware consumers—which also constitute a minority of the total
consumer population—were neither knowledgeable of nor interested in learning about AFS
despite being viewed as the group that needed to be taught the most. However, producers were
not necessarily concerned with teaching unaware consumers about AFS. Instead, Southside
producers believed that unaware consumers first needed to be taught the basics of healthy
eating. Therefore, the content of instruction centered on introducing unaware consumers to
healthy foods and teaching them how to cook. Layla told me:
A lot of those folks are using EBT to buy processed food…so, when they come here and
there really is no processed food, it’s a little intimidating because they don’t know what
to do with half of the stuff that’s up there…so for them it’s not worth it to spend their
money [here]. But a lot of that is education. They haven’t been cooking, they haven’t
been doing anything but heating up macaroni and cheese. So if we could show them
that it’s not that hard and it’s going to improve your health and the health of your
children in particular. You can go eat crap or whatever but at least give your kids a
chance to eat some carrots and apples and sweet potatoes.
Qual Sociol

Like Layla, producers at Southside believed that if low-income consumers were educated—by
them—on how to cook and prepare meals and to shop, as Melanie said, Bfarmer’s market
style,^ they would come to feel more comfortable in the market space.
Since interactions with low-income consumers were rare, Southside producers drew on
assumptions and anecdotes to explain their relative absence in the market space. For example,
Southside producers believed that SNAP users weren’t participating in the market economy
because they either didn’t know that the market exists or they didn’t know the market was
equipped to accept EBT. According to Josie:
I’m not sure what the exact barriers [to participation among SNAP users] would be but I
would guess people probably don’t know. If they do know, I don’t know if they know how to
use [EBT at the market]. I mean I’m not really familiar with what kind of education SNAP
users are given about what places accept EBT or what kind of things they can use it on or if
they even know that they can go to a farmers market. It may also be an issue that if they’re
trying to stretch their food dollars the idea of going to a local farmers market may not seem
to them like the best way to stretch theirdollars. I don’t know that [items at a farmers market]
are more expensive but I would guess that they think they are. They have enough on their
plate and someone who is in a point of, not economic distress, but they don’t want to do the
homework and figure out if it is more expensive or not.
Josie’s hypothesis was shared among producers who generally felt that low-income consumers
didn’t view sustainable patterns of consumption as affordable or practical. It was assumed that
because of this, low-income consumers relied on calorie-dense but nutrient-poor processed
foods and rarely incorporated fresh, whole foods into their diets. Through dialogues such as
these, it became clear that Southside producers assumed that low-income consumers were
disinterested in shopping at the market because they didn’t value their health enough to
purchase foods sold there.
Producers were additionally critical of customers who would inquire about discounts.
On one occasion, a female customer tried to use a gift card, which included a 10%
discount on her purchase, as payment for several items. While the customer seemed
certain that Southside would accept the card, Rebekah wasn’t familiar with this process
and told the customer she was unable to accept the card. While the customer was not
visibly upset by this outcome, paying for her items some other way, Rebekah took issue
with the fact that the card included a discount, which she perceived as in direct
opposition to the norms of AFS since a discount on market items undermines the AFS
goal of supporting small, local farms. Criticisms such as this extended to customers who
complained about price or who seemed disinterested in learning about farming tech-
niques. Since these behaviors were more common among low-income consumers, this
tension furthered their cultural exclusion in the market space.
These negative perceptions were especially surprising considering the lengthy efforts
Southside producers had gone through to be able to accept SNAP at the market. Every
producer I interviewed, whether formally or informally, expressed a strong desire to accept
EBT. In my interview with her, Layla told me:

I thought that [accepting EBT at the market] was a fabulous idea because I have a real
heart for the underserved community. I mean I have been really involved with [chari-
table organizations] and the gleaners so I felt like this was a way that the market could
have a positive impact on that community.
 Qual Sociol

Rebekah expressed similar sentiments in her interview, telling me when she became a vendor
at the market, she had the choice to opt out of accepting EBT but decided to continue doing so
because it was an avenue to reach out to low-income consumers and allow them to support
local agriculture. In fact, market producers were so invested in providing an EBT acceptance
program to low-income consumers that they spent over a year working with the USDA and
other organizations before being able to accept SNAP. In our interview, Layla tells me that the
Bapproval process shouldn’t have been that difficult^ but that she had encountered various
issues with funding, administration, and compiling data to present to the USDA. In the end, the
market was approved to accept EBT, but it was a difficult, drawn out process.
This persistence shows that Southside producers were dedicated to providing access to safe,
nutritious foods for low-income consumers. However, the aforementioned criticisms indicate
that these same producers find this goal difficult to achieve in practice due to tensions between
their abstract desires to provide for low-income consumers while simultaneously supporting
small, local farmers. While these are both central AFS goals (Dahlberg 1986; Feenstra 2002), it
is clear that Southside producers favored AFS practices that supported farmers over those that
supported low-income consumers.

North End

Norms of Market Participation: Producers Provide, Consumers Give Back

The day that I met Dale, before beginning my formal field work, I introduced myself and told
him that I was interested in studying his market. With no more information than that, he
quickly responded with something along the lines of, BThat’s good, we’re in a produce desert,
you know.^ Dale and the other producers at North End were fully aware that they were
operating in and serving residents of a low-income, urban food desert. Consumers at the
market were also aware of this, telling Dennis, BIf [you] move, [I] don’t know where [I’ll] get
[my] produce.^ As such, North End producers viewed themselves as providers and made
themselves amenable to the specific needs of their customers.
The producers at North End incorporated the needs of their consumers into the market
structure in various ways. They maintained a rolling credit system for consumers who didn’t
have enough money for their order or those individuals who had to wait for their SNAP benefit
to come through. When the neighborhoods around the market experienced an increase in their
Hispanic/Latino populations, Dale began to learn relevant Spanish phrases and regularly
stocked avocados, tomatillos, and mangoes. During the holidays, Jennifer would take special
orders for items that the market didn’t regularly stock so that customers could prepare
traditional dishes and have fruits and nuts to put in Christmas stockings. This general
willingness to incorporate consumer needs into the market structure was most evident in North
End’s decision to accept SNAP.
SL: But it sounds like even before you took SNAP you had people shopping here who
probably used SNAP, they just weren’t able to use it here?
Dennis: Yeah…We got a lot of people saying, you know, we’re going to have to stop by
less and less because we’ve got less and less money…We’d be able to stop by more if
you took EBT. So that’s when we started.
Like their counterparts are Southside, producers at North End had also faced barriers to
accepting SNAP, spending roughly one year trying to obtain certification that would allow them
Qual Sociol

accept SNAP as payment. In our interview, Dennis recounts his frustrations with this process,
telling me, BThis guy was running us around in a loop and taking his time [and] we were like, ‘We
don’t have that kind of time! We’ve got people to sell stuff to now!’^ As was the case at Southside,
this persistence demonstrates a strong desire to provide for low-income consumers.
While North End producers primarily viewed themselves as providers, they were also
interested in educating market consumers. However, the content of their instruction was
consistent across all consumers at the market. For North End producers, the educational goal
was to extend and specialize AFS knowledge, rather than introduce it. North End producers
were often excited to showcase unconventional or novelty items such as muscadine cider or
Beauregard sweet potatoes. North End producers were not concerned with introducing low-
income consumers to the basics of healthy eating because, as I will show in my discussion of a
separate theme, low-income consumers already possessed this knowledge. However, I first
want to elaborate on how community was conceptualized and defined at North End as well as
the reciprocal nature of the consumer-producer relationship.

The Concept of Community: Shared Geography, Shared History

As was the case at Southside, how the concept of community was defined shaped market
interactions. However, the definition of community at North End relied less on specific cultural
traits and more on place-based social characteristics. For producers and consumers, the concept
of community was inseparable from the histories and people of the geographic space sur-
rounding the market.
In interviews with and observations of consumers at North End, it was clear that shopping
at the market was a local tradition, passed down through generations and spread by word of
mouth. In my interview with her, Lana (black, female, SNAP recipient) told me:

[I feel comfortable at the market because] it’s just something that I know. I’m familiar
with it. To me it’s like it’s been in my family for some fifteen odd years, maybe more.
My parents used to go there and so it’s like the torch was just passed on. And I have
friends that go, you know. A lot of times if I know they’ve gotten a shipment of greens in
or something, [Dale will] say BSpread the word for me,^ you know, BLet your friends
know^ and that’s what I’ll do. I get on the phone and say: BThere’s some beautiful
turnips^ and you know, I spread the word.

Lana’s inclination to Bspread the word^ showcases one of the many ways that consumers
showed their appreciation for the producers at North End. In addition to spreading the word
and shopping at the market regularly, many consumers would go out of their way, in terms of
time and geography, to shop at the market. In our interview, Eli (white, male, SNAP recipient)
tells me that while he and his family may buy other food items at large super markets, they
make sure to wait and buy their produce at North End. When asked why she shops at North
End as opposed to a traditional grocery store, Lois (white, female) tells me this:

[It’s] community and I think that the little man sometimes is put out by the big stores,
you know like Wal-Mart and BI-LO and Food Lion and I think that we should help you
know, we should help our community people that have small businesses.
Consumers also found creative ways to show their support and gratitude for North End producers.
Before she became homebound, Donna (black, female, SNAP recipient) tells me that on several
 Qual Sociol

occasions she found herself helping customers when Jennifer, Dale, and Dennis would become
too busy. During one observation a black, middle-aged, female customer brought Dennis and Dale
a large bowl of potato salad so they wouldn’t have to leave the market to get lunch.
What these examples show is that consumers were highly active in defining, creating, and
maintaining a sense of community at North End. Like Lois, many of the customers I
interviewed expressed a desire to support local community businesses. Part of this reciprocal
relationship, built on the producers’ desire to provide for the community and the consumers
desire to show their gratitude, can be attributed to general feelings of isolation and exclusion,
felt by both the producers and consumers at North End.
In general, the producers at North End felt that their efforts to provide fresh, affordable,
local foods to an underserved area had gone unrecognized by the city. During field work, a
new farmers market opened in the area that North End already operated in. This new market,
which I’ll refer to here as Western Market, had received a great deal of recognition both locally
and nationally. Western Market had also received a substantial amount of funding from various
organizations, was featured in the local and national news, and was heralded as the only
farmers market in the area. This last point, obviously, is untrue.
Producers also felt ignored and excluded when road work directly in front of the market
seemed to drag on endlessly, despite Dale and Jennifer’s appeals to the city to either halt
construction for the summer or to speed up the process. During an informal interview, Dennis
tells me that they have been unable to showcase their produce because there was so much dirt
and debris from construction in the market space; they were concerned it would make the
produce inedible. He goes on to say the roadwork has been a substantial deterrent to would-be
customers, who don’t want to deal with the hassle of driving through the construction.
Customers like Lana that I interviewed also took issue with this, telling me that they Bdidn’t
like what the city had done [to the producers at North End].^
Customers were sympathetic to these negative externalities because they too felt isolated and
ignored. During her interview, Donna describes how her community—which is predominately
African-American—has yet to receive a bus line since the sprawling development was built in 1999.

We still haven’t gotten a bus. Plus the fact if [people in the neighborhood] went to the store,
they couldn’t bring so much [because they have to carry it]. So, no, we don’t have access to
fresh fruits and vegetables and stuff down in here. The people that are closer to the little
convenience stores, they just grab chips and stuff and they have to because they want to eat.
Donna is now homebound and receives SNAP benefit. She tells me that the producers at North
End will deliver produce orders to her now, but if this wasn’t the case, she wouldn’t have many
options to access fresh foods in her neighborhood. Other North End consumers who received
SNAP benefit felt othered by the federal program because they didn’t receive additional
benefit transfers during the holidays. According to Lana:
I often wondered, like for Christmas, Thanksgiving, and Easter, why would they not put
extra on the card? It seems like they would. They should supplement more because they
know that’s a time when family comes together and you may spend more on food in
those months than any other month. Like when your kids are coming around you may
want to buy more treats to have around but you may not have the money to do [that]. I
mean, even during the month of Halloween, the parents have to take a big chunk of food
money to go buy treats for the children to keep them from feeling left out. I wonder why
they never thought to [add more money to our cards] around the holidays.
Qual Sociol

These feelings of isolation, shared between producers and consumers, allowed for a reciprocal
relationship to develop at North End. Producers acted as providers for a community that felt
ignored at the local and national level and consumers went out of their way to show their
gratitude. As alluded to in previous sections, exchanges at North End were heavily influenced
by the social ties between producers and consumers. By acknowledging the needs of local
communities and serving as providers rather than educators, the place-based concept of
Bcommunity embeddedness^ was realized at North End (Granovetter 1985).
While I have shown that North End consumers, particularly those who received SNAP, feel
isolated and ignored, this does not mean that they lacked agency. In stark contrast to the perceptions
of low-income consumers held by producers at Southside, the low-income consumers I interacted
with at North End were heavily invested in alternative forms of consumption and developed creative
adaptations to their own circumstances that would allow them to participate in various modes of
alternative consumption while also stretching their food dollars.

Realities of Low-Income Consumers: Isolated but Aware

While low-income consumers I interviewed felt isolated in various ways, they were still active
participants in the North End market economy. Producer accounts and field notes confirm that
most customers at North End were low-income, received SNAP, and/or were non-white. Contrary
to their counterparts at Southside, low-income consumers at North End were comfortable in the
market space. Eli, one of the market’s low-income consumers, told me:
Oh yeah, oh yeah [I feel comfortable using EBT at the market]. It’s just like using it a
grocery store. I mean, it’s no difference. I ain’t worried about [the producers at North
End] you know, they’re honest people [laughing] that’s the best I can tell ya.
Still, low-income consumers acknowledged their own economic constraints when accessing
food. However, as opposed to shying away from alternative modes of consumption, low-
income consumers embraced these methods as a way to, as Lana put it, Bwork [their] money.^
In addition to clipping coupons and shopping at multiple stores to buy food as cheap as
possible, low-income consumers also prepared the majority of their meals at home. Further-
more, low-income consumers saw North End as the most viable option for fresh, affordable,
and local produce. In our interview, Lana tells me that she shops at North End because it’s
more affordable to buy produce at the market than a traditional grocery store.
I was so glad [the market began accepting EBT] because going to the grocery store and
you buy a tomato and one tomato is just outrageous. And think about it, you may buy
four tomatoes out of the grocery store and you may wind up paying somewhere close to
five dollars. But if you go there, to the farmer’s market, I may pay what? Two dollars,
maybe three dollars for about five or six tomatoes.
Not only did low-income consumers view the market as more affordable, they also knew that
because the food sold at the market was usually local, pesticide-free, and Bhome-grown,^ it would
last longer. Eli tells me that he shops at the market because he likes Bhome-grown^ stuff that Bwill
last you longer at home.^ In our interview, Dennis confirms that customers regularly asked if the
produce and other items sold at North End were locally sourced. Furthermore, many customers at
North End maintained a garden themselves, had done so at one time, or had connections to small-
scale farmers in the state. As a result of these behaviors and connections, the low-income consumers
I spoke with at North End were highly aware of produce that was regionally specific (e.g.
 Qual Sociol

muscadines, scuppernongs, or creasy greens) and understood the intricacies of seasonal growing
patterns.
Low-income consumers were also aware of various health benefits associated with alterna-
tive consumption. During our interview, Arnie (black, male), a customer at North End, told me
that he prefers free-range chicken because conventionally sourced chicken makes him feel
Bsluggish.^ Lana tells me that she is diabetic and had recently be diagnosed with a gluten
intolerance. As such, she has made several changes to her diet, specifically using North End as a
resource for produce and local honey, the latter of which is Bto keep from using sugar in [her]
tea.^ During one observation, I spoke with a middle-aged black woman who described herself
as Ba country girl^ who Bhad been poor for a long time.^ She told me that she had recently lost a
considerably amount of weight to decrease her risk of cardiovascular disease and excitedly
described her ability to make a 20 dollar bill last all week while also eating a diet that consisted
primarily of fruits and vegetables. During a separate observation, I met a middle-aged, black,
female SNAP user who stopped by North End on the way to pick up her children from a nearby
middle school. As she shopped, she told me that she would always try to buy peaches, cheese,
and other Breal foods^ for her children’s snacks as opposed to processed snacks or candies.
I have provided several examples here to show that while Southside producers assumed that
low-income consumers lacked knowledge about the health benefits of a diet that primarily
consists of whole foods, it is clear that this is not necessarily the case. Not only did low-income
consumers at North End regularly incorporate fresh fruits and vegetables into their diets, they
were concerned with whether these products were locally or sustainably sourced as well.

Conclusion

This study accomplishes two primary goals. First, I provide evidence for the presence or absence
of exclusionary discourses and practices within AFS. While several studies have provided
evidence for exclusionary discourses in AFS (Guthman 2003; Hinrichs 2000; Slocum 2007), this
study extends that knowledge by investigating how these discourses manifest and operate in AFS
with unique characteristics. Second, I introduce qualitative findings on the experiences of
traditionally disadvantaged and underrepresented consumers (e.g. low-income, racial minorities,
SNAP users) who actively participate in AFS. Here, I highlight the similarities and differences
between my two research sites (see Table 2 for a summary of findings), discuss how this research
contributes to the broader literature on cultural distinction and boundary maintenance in AFS, and
offer recommendations for future research and implications for reducing these barriers and
making AFS culturally and geographically inclusive spaces.
While my two research sites differed in many ways, one common characteristic appeared in
my findings: the use of specialized or AFS-specific language among consumers. At Southside,
active—and to a lesser extent, passive—consumers regularly used phrases such as
Bmorganic,^ BGMO-free,^ and Bsoy-fed^ in interactions with myself and other producers.
Similarly, consumers at North End also used specialized terms, including Bhome-grown,^
Bfree-range,^ and Breal^ when describing foods sold at the market. While these terms often
referred to the same concepts, they are still different words. More importantly, their interpre-
tation among producers at Southside and North End were very different.
Consistent with other research (Slocum2007; Slocum 2008),Southside producers relied onthese
specialized phrases and other noted behaviors to signal a knowledge of and interest in AFS among
consumers. From this, they developed a hierarchy of consumer types (see Table 1) that relied on the
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Table 2 Summary and Comparison of Findings

Southside North End

Theme
Norms of Market Producers as Educators Producers as Providers
Participation Educational need varies across Educational need is constant across
sub-groups of consumers sub-groups of consumers
The Concept of Cultural Place-Based
Community Based on the use of phrases Based on reciprocity to signal shared
to signal shared interests in AFS interest in the neighborhood
Restrictive, Hierarchical Unrestrictive, Horizontal
Low-Income Perceptions Realities
Consumers Unaware, disinterested, disengaged Aware, interested, isolated
Behavioral barriers to market participation Structural barriers to accessing food
The market as an unviable option for The market as the most viable option
food access for food access

presentation of specific forms of cultural capital commonly afforded to privileged consumers

through their class position. As such, the cultural criteria used to evaluate consumer interest was
tightly coupled with social boundaries and relied on the assumption that privileged consumers were
shopping at the market reflexively. Since the broader norms and values of AFS reflect the beliefs and
behaviors of producers and consumers with privilege, these exchanges were deemed Bcorrect^ by
Southside producers. In turn, all other behaviors were labeled as Bincorrect^ to some extent. This
differentiation, based on the presentation of cultural capital and maintained through restrictive
discourses, served to facilitate group closure.
Southside producers rationalized the lack of participation among these groups of consumers as an
indicator of a lack of knowledge or interest in AFS as well as lack of knowledge or interest in healthy
eating. For these producers, they perceived themselves as educators who could teach low-income
consumers the Bcorrect^ way to participate in AFS and the Bcorrect^ way to eat. Similar to missionary-
like repertoires of producer self-concepts observed in other studies (Guthman 2008; Lyson 2014), by
taking on the role of educators, Southside producers were not only providing food; they were also
providing a way of being. This is problematic because it restricts consumer participation in the market
economy to a singular mode of behavior that relies on practices and ideologies that favor privileged
consumers. Inaddition,this contributedtoa concept of communitythat was basedincultural practices,
rather than the history and people of the physical space surrounding the market. As a result, it was
irrelevant how geographically close to low-income, racial diverse, food deserts Southside market was.
These findings suggest that even concerted and persistent efforts to incorporate low-income, racial
minority consumers, and food desert residents into AFS can be compromised by cultural barriers.
However, as my data from North End shows, this is not always the case.
By conceptualizing themselves as providers rather than educators, producers at North End
fostered a sense of community that was accepting of multiple forms of alternative consump-
tion. Therefore, the narratives, behaviors, and consumers that could inhabit the market space at
North End were boundless. By integrating the specific needs of residents in the surrounding
communities into the market economy, North End producers were able to successfully
integrate groups of consumers typically absent from AFS spaces: specifically SNAP users.
This finding extends research by Alkon (2012) who, in a similar ethnographic study of two
farmers markets in California’s Bay Area, found that even when racial diversity was achieved,
producers struggled to incorporate low-income consumers in nearby communities into the
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market economy. She goes on to note that this is due in part to the fact that farmers markets and
other forms of AFS tend to favor environmental and economic sustainability over social justice
(Alkon 2012). While North End producers were also concerned with environmental and
economic sustainability (i.e. supporting small, local farms that practices sustainable produc-
tion), they adapted these goals to fit their consumers. As I have shown in my findings, SNAP
users and other North End consumers favored alternative foods and valued a Bwaste not, want
not^ form of alternative consumption that allowed them to optimize their limited funds. In
turn, North End producers incorporated these values into the market structure while keeping
the social justice goal of immediate access at the forefront as opposed to hoping for long-term,
behavioral change on the part of the consumer through culturally specific education.
These forms of alternative consumption reported by SNAP users are another unique contri-
bution of this study to the literature on cultural distinction and boundary maintenance in AFS.
While SNAP users and other low-income or low-access consumers are indeed restricted in their
abilities to both procure and prepare fresh, whole, safe foods (Grace et al. 2007), my interviews
with and observations of SNAP users at North End show that these groups of consumers are far
from ignorant when it comes to these practices. As I have already alluded to, the phrases used by
low-income consumers at North End (e.g. Bhome-grown^) are essentially synonymous with the
specialized language used by privileged consumers at Southside (e.g. Bmorganic^). Furthermore,
many consumers at North End belong to groups (e.g. low-income, SNAP recipients, racial
minorities) that producers at Southside assume to be uninterested in AFS. Therefore, the interest
of these underrepresented groups in AFS may be underestimated in the current literature consid-
ering the similarities between Southside and spaces analyzed in previous studies (Alkon 2012;
Guthman 2008; Slocum 2007; Slocum 2008).
While my research expands the scope of knowledge on boundary work in AFS, it is not
without its limitations. Limitations common in social science research—time, recruitment of
study participants—have been mentioned elsewhere in this paper. Still, my analysis is limited
by that fact that while North End has been in operation in the same area for over 40 years, at
the time of my study Southside had only been in operation for just over 3 years. As such, it is
difficult to determine whether my findings are heavily influenced by this difference. Even so, I
argue that my results are still valid. While North End has been in operation longer than
Southside, both markets began to accept SNAP around the same time. One of the objectives of
this analysis is to provide insights into how AFS can actualize the social justice goals intended
by the broader alternative food movement. Given that AFS typically fail to solicit participation
from the disadvantaged communities they intend to serve, it is worthwhile to document and
analyze the exclusionary narratives that can potentially prevent new AFS such as Southside
from reaching their social justice goals. It could very well be the case that North End has been
able to operate in its target area for so long, despite demographic changes and a recent need to
accept SNAP, because the narratives that permeate the market space do not adhere to restrictive
cultural distinctions. However, future research in this area should attempt to minimize differ-
ences such as these as much as possible so as not to confound their analyses.
An additional limitation restricts my ability to directly compare the perceptions of low-
income consumers at Southside with the realities of low-income consumers I recorded at North
End: I was unable to interview any SNAP users who were also customers at Southside. In fact,
SNAP users were so rare at Southside that over the course of observation at that site, I only
Qual Sociol

observed one interaction with a SNAP user. This is an important finding in and of itself, but the
lack of participation among SNAP users at Southside means that almost all interactions,
conversations, and interviews with SNAP recipients occurred at North End. The SNAP user
who shops at or could shop at Southside is potentially much different than the SNAP user who
shops at or could shop at North End. Likewise, producers also differed in many ways across
the two sites. However, it is still important to highlight these differences as the lived realities of
low-income consumers residing in food deserts are rarely heard through a medium other than a
survey instrument (Evans et al. 2012; Young et al. 2013). This is especially true when talking
about participation in AFS, where the voices of SNAP recipients are virtually absent. In
addition, perceptions of SNAP users held by Southside producers often extended to other low-
income consumers who did not receive SNAP. Given this, I feel my comparisons are valid but
would encourage future research to include interviews with SNAP users and other low-income
consumers as well.
The discussion I have presented here suggests that further research is necessary to understand the
complex process of boundary work in AFS spaces and to identify avenues to remedy these
exclusionary processes. My analysis adds a case to the growing body of research on this topic and
offers a unique contribution in the form of detailed ethnographic data on the ways SNAP recipients
and other low-income consumers participate in AFS. I conclude that it is important to understand the
unique histories and needs of a geographic area through community engagement while promoting
the acceptance of various phrases, forms of behavior, and motivations for AFS participation in order
to create spaces that are geographically and culturally inclusive and work towards the social justice
goals of the alternative food movement.

Acknowledgements I would like to thank David Smilde and the anonymous reviewers who provided thought-
ful comments for improving my original manuscript. I would also like to thank Vaughn Schmutz, Nicole
Peterson, Stephanie Moller, Roslyn Mickelson, Hedy Lee, Sarah Quinn, and Mette Evelyn Bjerre for their
feedback and encouragement throughout this research project. I am also grateful to everyone I interviewed and
interacted with when conducting this research.

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Savannah Larimore is a graduate student in the Department of Sociology at the University of Washington. Her
research focuses on the interaction of race, place, and health in the United States, with an emphasis on race. She is
primarily interested in how multiple dimensions of racial and ethnic identification affect access to health-
promoting resources, including resource-rich neighborhoods and social environments, in turn producing health
disparities within and across racial and ethnic groups.