02/26/2024
Farmers market sentiments:
I remember a time when mostly locals shopped at the market and Bluemoon produce was as hot as cinnamon rolls, when Laney would lay down her blue checkered table cloth and set out her fine goat cheeses pulled from her old white truck, the meat wagon and Gaurd’s handshake “thanks for being a farmer Mara”
Susie’s showstopper flower works and Rob with his smiling eyes and quality meats and eggs. My dad of course handsome and quick as ever popping extra tomatoes into your basket.
I remember even further back to being a kid, the market in the theatre parking lot overlooking the ocean, pulling up flowering weeds and selling bouquets of dandelions for a quarter.
I remember you
The old regulars that don’t show up anymore. I still remember your tattoo, three rings on your left arm (one for you, your wife and daughter)
I remember you, your jade necklace and beautiful accent, how you loved the cherry tomatoes and always wanted a deal. And you, who came early for the purple ones, you’d come help us set up just to get your hands on the ones you wanted even though moving a crate nearly took you down with the effort. Some of you still come, your green leather wallet, your animal shirts and old rusty blue truck, you who loves to ask me gardening questions or give me back your cherry container or old salad bag. You who scares me just a little with your own large box and esteem to slow everyone down and get exactly what you want at the cost of all others, but I let you. And you get a lot so I can’t complain.
You who’s hugs leave me smelling of your perfume, or you the girl I thought was a secret young model and then found out I was right.
I know your favorite varieties, what you’ll likely want today, or how you love the snap peas best. I may not remember your name but I know you, your dog with wiry wisps at the ears. The little things I pick up from the five hectic moments of seeing you at the market.
It’s such an intimate and yet brief way of knowing you. To be your farmer. I may not really know you. But when we’re gone. I’ll notice. And I’ll think of you and miss those little things.
