Give Me My Market People
Every Friday we pull out all the stops to reap the rewards of a spring and summer spent seeding, feeding, and cultivating our acres of Brookville Ohio paradise. By evening we are spent, ready for a day of rest. But of course, Saturday follows, which brings a 4:30 am alarm calling us from bed to pack orders and load the trailer with a cornucopia of veg. Rich and I pack in silence, our brains barely online, our energy conserved for the day ahead. That day of rest just has to wait until Sunday, or Monday...and some weeks we don't rest until the following Sunday or Monday.
If we are overdue for a day of quietude, how is it that I drive out of the suburbs after market energized and inspired to get back to the field? It's my market people, as evidenced by the enthusiastic report and stories I pass on to Rich over a late lunch at our table. I just want to imbue him with the warmly intoxicating spirit of the market day. For he, of anyone, deserves to bathe in the good vibrations of the market booth, where people revel in the beauty of a rainbow worth of harvest. His thoughtful and laborious shaping of a field of produce is exhibited every Saturday morning, as he holds the fort at the farm.
But this summer as the farm grows and our market booth has expanded to double its size to accomodate the abundance, Rich has been dropping in for that magical first hour when people trickle in from the sidewalks. If a vendor was coming purely with the intention of doing business, they are quickly cast under market's spell. It's an old-world sensation which feels as if it should be out of style in our rather disconnected modern world. It's like we're living in a village, where I know whose children are moving away from home this fall and whose are just learning how to talk; while all the while the market draws a crowd of newcomers and out of town visitors. All mix and mingle in the best kind of mashup as they wait in line for their morning pastries from the baker down the way or for flowers for their table from the flower farmer next to my tent.
I can't help but eavesdrop on two folks waiting in our line as I pack an order, one introducing honeynut winter squash to the other and sharing recipes. By the time they approach the front of the line, I find out to my surprise that they are strangers to each other. I should say they were strangers, now connected by this conversation over a strange vegetable and a little bit of time stuck standing still in each other's company. In other words, market is a party and it's quite infectious. Ask me to cut my sleep short for most any other reason and I find myself grumpy. But this culmination of our weeks at Saturday morning market feeds the fire in me, nearly extinguished by the preceding six days of effort and physicality.
A customer quickly becomes an extended family member as we know enough intimate details about each other's lives not to be. I spend my week eager for an update on how my newly emptied nester is doing, and curious how Sheri's trip out of state went. The other week, I packed up from market to head home with a homecooked meatloaf on my lap, Candi had made too much for she and her hub and thought we could use a night off from cooking. And this coming week, I can't forget to bring a little bit of our sourdough starter to Jen who wants to foray into the delightful world of bread baking.
I should mention that if we never had a customer amble into the market, a Saturday with my fellow vendors would fill my cup near to the brim. As meaningful as a busy market day is to our business, I resent that on those I hardly get a moment to catch up with Julie and Tasha as they build bouquets of summer blooms next door to me. But for market, I wouldn't have my precious friendships with those two which buoy me as the best friendships do.
Just yesterday as I broke down the market tables in my semi-delusional post market state, I found myself letting my guard down with two other vendor friends of mine, with equally cheeky humors. We unravelled together in spurts of laughter and dare I say after 48 long hours, I could have hung with them under that tent into the evening. It's when I've plugged into the world's problems or mine, that I need to remind myself of the sense of security that I have being part of a community. Just give me my market people, the loves in my life too, and no matter what, we have each other to make life so very rich.
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