Do you want to know a secret
Do you promise not to tell?
For one reason or another I’ve had to miss the last two Sundays at my farmers market. Cassidy and I were both genuinely worried we’d bypassed the sugar plum crop entirely, but I wrote about the glory of sugar plums last year on July 12th, so I think we’re safe.
I’m feeling a little bit out of sorts about the whole thing. I don’t like my routines disrupted, for starters, but I think I haven’t been eating as much produce as a direct result— the grocery store feels subpar and overpriced by comparison— and I feel a physical difference. I feel heavy.
After a holiday weekend we have pretty much no food in our pantry or refrigerator, and I don’t wanna go to the supermarket.
I want fresh tomatoes and sweet corn and blackberries and local eggs and cheese and bacon. (Now I kinda want an omelet.)
I want to talk to the farmers about what to do with garlic scapes and laugh about how the kids have grown.
I hate grocery shopping and I enjoy market shopping. I don’t think it’s too much to ask, to enjoy my thankless chores for at least a few months of the year.
So…. I think I’m going to visit a new (to me) farmers market this week. Or maybe two.
I feel vaguely like I’m cheating on my regular market. A wanton foodie hussy. Don’t worry, darlings. I have enough love to go around…