The morning is cold and crisp, like an apple picked in a cool, fall orchard and eaten straight away. The bite, the shiver, are sweet and delicious this morning. I’d like to see a little more sun and blue sky for the gardening I want to do later but on the other hand, the morning is cozy and good; a pleasure to be out in. Oh my, here are some raindrops falling, not a storm but enough to wet the place. I shouldn’t complain, but you just can’t plant much in wet soil.
There’s the market up ahead, waiting in the town square for me like an old friend. I’ve been making this trek almost every Saturday since we’ve lived here, nearly three and a half years now. I cross King Street to the square and pass by the refurbishers of old trunks, sellers of pieces of history I’d like to buy. Almost did, a couple years ago, as a hope chest for our daughter, but somehow when the time came we found other uses for those 250 dollars a trunk would have set us back.
There’s Calvin at his stand, same place he’s been ever since I’ve been coming ’round. He’s a big, cheerful guy from West Virginia, always a smile, always a friendly word for everyone who drops by. In fall, I buy most of my apples from him. He’s also one of the few people who, in spring, sell ramps, an exotic wild garlicky leak you’ve gotta forage for in the woods of Appalachia or buy from someone else who did. None yet this week, but I bet next week he’ll have some. He’s dragging out a wall-less tent, a canvas roof on four aluminum legs, unfolding and setting it up, good naturedly grousing that he’s only deploying it to make the rain stop. The land Calvin lives and farms on has been in his family for eight generations. It was first laid out by a young surveyor named George Washington.
I continue to stroll around the fountain where sellers have set up their stalls and I see Jim at his stand, selling his organic beef and pork and free-range eggs. He’s also selling some small, cute heads of cabbage that overwintered in his fields. His teenage daughter, helping at the stand, tells me they’re sweeter that way. At a dollar each, how could I go wrong? Last year, he invited all his customers to an afternoon at the farm. He manages a CSA which stands for community supported agriculture. That’s a set-up where people pay a lump sum to buy weekly shares of his crop. Enough people participating in a CSA can support a local farmer, plus folks can enjoy good, fresh, locally-grown, affordable organic vegetables. He says hi to me by name and we chat a bit about growing things. He’s planted a lot of seeds, but the unseasonably cool weather we’ve been having these past two weeks, he tells me, has kept them from sprouting much yet. He mentioned planting potatoes this past week using a machine designed to quickly plant large numbers of transplants. Apparently the planter rides this contraption that first digs a hole into which the farmer drops the plant (or seed potato piece), then is followed by a scraper that covers the planting. It makes it easy to pop the pieces of potato into the ground, but he needs to drive over the rows with his tractor to tamp down the surface, a necessary part of planting potatoes. He’s going to invite folks to the farm again in May. I tell him I hope to be there, but my grandson is due to be born about then. We’ll see.
Next stop on the Saturday circuit of the market is the herb stand. I’ve purchased all my herb plants over the last three years from these fine folks. Bought a dried bouquet from ’em last December. I love this place. It smells nice with three or four tables full of herbs: oregano, thyme, mint, chives, basil in season, and more. It looks nice too, bright green, stocky, well-grown transplants. I especially buy things here that I wouldn’t buy a whole packet of seeds for like sage or oregano or the lemon balm that last year pretty near took over a big section of the bed and looked like it was thinking about taking over the living room, too. The folks who run this stand are nice, good people, the kind I say, I’d like to invite over for supper. We discuss vining, flowering plants. I tried to grow sweet peas on trellises last year but they didn’t amount to much. I’m looking for a vine, I say, that is pretty and easy. Do you have anything? She suggested a passion vine, but at $10 per plant for a perennial I would only be enjoying for another year or so, it didn’t seem like a good idea. She mentioned scarlet runner beans, both beautiful and edible, an idea I liked. I may buy some seed myself and see what happens.
I’m not looking forward to moving next year. I’m comfortable here in this community, know my way around, including through this market full of sellers, local farmers, now friends I chat with on Saturdays. I crave and love this sense of belonging, of familiarity, of easy conversation and sweet humanity.
