Market Madness

September 14, 2013

The deer devoured all of his fresh ears of corn on the north side of the field. Plants stripped bare, naked from root to the sky. The neighboring field, tended to by “Ned”  (for some reason, his name only seems apparent in parenthesis) was left unhampered. When Todd inquired about the production of the untapped maize, he was startled to find it an Engineered brand. This discovery left him unable to swallow food for several days, creating a pit of grief too absurd to name, sickened by the fact that his special organic corn is now tainted by wind-induced pollen pollution. Does that mean the deer are smarter than humans? If the shoe, or in this case, hoof, fits..

Our growing West Side Farmers Market has jovial vendor participation. The stand to my immediate left is run by a family who owns a farm near Afton. Brilliant red peppers, tomatoes of all sizes, over-sized green cabbage, tennis ball size red and white potatoes lined up in paper baskets to admire and purchase. “M” and I discussed canning some products to sell for next season. Gosh knows, I need a new line of work. On the other side of me was a young man and his two children, one of whom I suspect did not get enough sleep last night. He ran crying to his papa every ten minutes to half an hour ‘cause someone did him wrong. Poor thing wore himself ragged. Two singers joined the Market festivities, adding a bit of music to the mix. Colorful t-shirts, brick oven baked breads, cookies, real fruit roll-ups, banana muffins, jams, chicken parts, eggs and greens rounded off the offerings. Dogs came and went, dragging owners along. Made me consider baking dog biscuits for next year as well.  

Small purple grapes, laced with green, sweet melt in my mouth burst of flavor sits in the brown paper lunch bag, snuggled next to firm, nearly ripe roma tomatoes, soft to the touch apples lay beneath, sprigs of basil purify the interior of the vehicle as I drive home from the West Side Farmers Market. An exceedingly slow Saturday morning provides salad mixings for days to come. I managed to sell one quart of maple syrup, the remaining eleven joyously jostle one another in the box.

We have a seed library starting up too. The neighborhood is most interested in a pea patch garden, exchange of seeds, soil preparation and harvesting collaboratively. My job is to ensure a true reflection of the community we live in. Hispanics, African Americans, Hmong, Vietnamese, and Caucasians. So far, it is five white, middle-aged women who are running the show. I’ll be knocking on doors and soliciting help. You could be next, watch your mailbox for details.