Farmer's Market

Grabbing our cups of coffee, wiping the last wisps of sleep from our eyes, and making sure our clothes are decent for the public, my husband and I head out to Farmer's Market to see friends, smell the herbs and squeeze some ripe melons. 

It's our Saturday morning ritual and can take place between 8am through 10am, in sunshine or dewy fog, the yellows of spring with strawberries or the golds of fall with spaghetti squash. As we find a place to park, it is random and slow as we dodge the little old ladies pushing their wire carts full of vegetables and pink carnations.

We lope over to our favorite strawberry guy, Willy, who always has a big, white smile and a hand ready to shake with my husband.

"How is your family?" we always ask.

Willy has a huge extended family that cooks and plays soccer together every weekend. We love to hear what he is throwing on the BBQ and it usually inspires us for own dinner that night. From Willy we buy strawberries, cilantro and carrots with their tops still on.

Across from Willy is our tomato lady, Sharon. Her tomatoes are always displayed in neat, tidy rows and look too red and perfect to be real. I glance at her little handout notes for new tomato recipes but nothing sparks my interest except to see her tomatoes at home drizzled in olive oil, fresh basil and sitting delicately on top of a thin piece of bread. Delicious!

A laugh bursts out loud in the quiet ebbs and murmurs of the chatter between friends, farmer to customer and children wanting to nibble an orange slice. Seeing a little girl making an orange slice smile for her brother, it reminds me that we need some of those rich in Vitamin C jewels for our family. Tom, the farmer, extends a slice of orange to us with his prongs. 

"Oh, I already know how wonderful your oranges taste. We will take your biggest bag, please."

Over my shoulder, my husband adds,

"I would love a piece though Tom! I have coffee breath and this will help."

Tom hands him a piece of orange and a 10lb bag of oranges while I pay him. Our hands are getting full but we have more friends to greet and vegetables to gather.

My husband is already making his way to one of his favorite stops of the morning. He is heading over to the nuts, dried fruit canopy and Stefan. Stefan is one of his special friends not only because he is extremely tall like my husband, but because of his faith and mutual passion for ministry. They are kindred spirits when it comes to ministry and ways to help those in need. I will usually let them talk while I grab the last of the vegetables; chard from a sweet, Portuguese organic farmer; leeks from two sisters farming in Nipomo; salad greens from a teenager that helps out her Dad every weekend; apples from Mike who grows vintage variety types in See Canyon; sweet onions from a lady who lives across from the Mission; and flowers from a couple that pick them fresh out of their garden at 5am.

As I make my way back, I am distracted by all the textures and shades of brown wicker baskets that people are carrying. The vivid colors of the fruits and vegetables against the neutral browns make it look like an artistic rendering of a still life picture.  I return to Stefan and my husband, get a kiss from them both and waving goodbye, we go back to our car with healthy food while holding hands. The happy feelings continue as we drive home to our children where we will place the flowers in a white ceramic pitcher, make pancakes, homemade berry sauce and squirt lots of whipping cream on top. As the whipping cream sticks to our faces, we realize how lucky we are to live in this bountiful area, be able to share this with our children and create this family memory.