FARMERS MARKET photos by alex herbig words by christine cook
“we leave with more than bags of lettuce and apples; we leave with new friends and reasons to come back again.”
O n a cold morning when the
sky is thatched with clouds, we walk into a parking lot full of life. Barrels full of brussel sprouts, baskets full of bread. Fruit sits in boxes, varying shades of apples: braeburn, fuji, jonagold, honey crisp. A child in a down jacket visits Hama Hama Oyster Farm and sees a pearl for the first time. Little girls wear balloons on their wrist, courtesy Clover the Balloon Fairy. A grocery store sits across the street, dejected. We pass college students wearing purple sweatshirts and moccasins, buyers and sellers discussing the weather, elderly couples dressed in thick sweaters, carrying cloth bags drooping with the weight of their purchases.
Vendors wear rain boots and waterproof jackets, a sign of permanence and preparedness. They come here every week, a woman wearing turquoise earrings tells us, they come through the seasons. Rain or shine, groceries are collected: beets, jars of pickles, cranberry orange current scones. They loiter, so we loiter. We savor a slice off a mama wheel of Queso Fresco, sample the red and yellow carbonation of ginger beer, taste whole-grain sourdough bread, and select spinach and kale from Willie’s greens. Clover gives us a luminescent, round, stone, pressing glitter into our palms. We leave with more than bags of lettuce and apples; we leave with new friends, and reasons to come back again.
Rootabaga Courty Farm - Cheese