When Life Becomes Too Much ... Flee To The Farmer's Market

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This Little Piggy Went to The Market

After I was asked to contribute to this blog by its kind owner, I did what any normal person who doesn't have a blog would do. I panicked. The paralysis eventually wore off, but the worry remained. Susanne and I share some similarities but our differences outnumber those. Push came to shove and I was asked for my draft. So I ran away.

Now, there are no circuses nearby (not that I have any acrobatic or animal training skills) and my bank account, family, and job don't allow me the freedom to fly off somewhere. When life swirls and pressures mount, I run to a magical place that soothes my soul - my local farmer's market. It's only in the last few years that I've become a farmer's market enthusiast. Since this is a suburban farmer's market, I show up to the train station parking lot on a given Saturday morning and join the others searching for fresher produce and meat, local cheese makers, and small batch distilleries.

These bakers, farmers, and seafood vendors are so proud of their products. In a place where many purchases are seen as luxury items, I stop and speak with a young woman in her twenties whose love of cheese led her to give up her job and head to a small farm cooperative. There she works her weeks to produce 25 varieties of sheep and goat cheeses. Weekends are spent traveling to farmer's markets in the tri-state area where she proudly offers samples, hoping not to make millions, but to offer tasty and healthier items. 

The hummus man now knows who we are, what our favorite varieties have been, and sneaks us tastes of ones he's developing. The German baker who has visited the town my husband's grandmother lived in. They share stories of life and childhood and speak German, showing patience when my husband's is broken and rusty. These purveyors actually WANT to talk with their customers. In a world, where we're often rushed through a purchase, they get to know our tastes and interests. And they smile and are kind even when a purchase isn't made.

A farmer's market is also a great place to people watch. Children and their parents meet school friends. They stop and chat about soccer games and Halloween parades. Little ones ride in strollers and nosh on treats given freely by the vendors. Families talk with each other. Children point and moms explain. Dads carry offspring on their shoulders. Life slows. People breathe and smile.

Did I mention the pups? Dogs, everywhere. All shapes and sizes. Old and young. The place is crawling with them. And the best part of all? People let me pet them. Freely. In my last few visits, owners have also listened as I teared up and talked about losing my own dog. People seem to care at a farmer's market.

When we return home, our reusable bag stuffed with goodies, I place our stash on the counter and marvel over it all. The handmade bread and ravioli, the organic veggies, the homemade vegan dumplings taste better, make me feel better.

They remind me to slow down and listen to people. To see more beauty in the simple moments. That sometimes, all people need is for us to listen to them, even for just a moment. And on some days, they prepare us to write a guest blog post.

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About Your Guest Blogger

New York bound teacher who shapes the minds of young people. One day this might happen. 

Find me on twitter: @2happypeas