Ye Old Farmers' Market

To make up for yesterday's onset of depression, I decided to drag myself up early on a Saturday to go visit the local farmers' market. Although retail therapy is a horrible way of dealing with bad days, the fresh, wild mulberries are doing a good job of putting everything into perspective.

The local farmers' market is downtown, amidst the mix of "sky scrapers", parking garages, and historic-looking, brick buildings that make up the heart of Lexington. Spread over the wide sidewalk spanning two blocks, the market isn't large, but it has a distinct feel of familiarity. You get the feeling that these same vendors have been coming here every week selling to the same customers for years. People with large dogs abound, dragging them from booth to booth while they really would rather sniff each other and drink the water from the buckets of flowers. Most vendors sell almost the same things as the one next to them, but maybe with sugar snap peas instead of cherries. Some booths are lush, professional affairs with well washed and prepared fruits and vegetables, while others are more down-home, offering you a bag and the chance to really commune with your food as you pick it from the pile.

Wandering down the street there are plant sellers with fresh lavender and broad-leafed basil, honey makers hawking honey sticks two for a quarter and booths displaying Amish butter and cheeses. Flower growers abound, catching the eyes of all who pass by with huge, brightly colored lilies or 4-foot tall sunflowers. Some sellers are garrulous, calling in passersby, while others are more reserved, good country folk, there to make a living with their homemade preserves. In between some of the booths, other types of people have set up to take advantage of the crowds. A father and two children play a string trio version of Pachelbel's Canon in D, while further along a man picks at a banjo for a barefoot toddler. One man, sitting on a park bench, offers balloon animals and hats, flirting with the young women in the crowd.

This place feels like a natural place for me to be, blending into the crowds who are just looking for a good bunch of green onions and some vibrant salad lettuce. I can make idle chatter with the vendors, explaining that i'll just put things in my bag rather than taking the generic plastic they proffer. I stop to let the large dogs sniff me if they'll just let me scratch them behind the ears. Wild mulberries catch the corner of my eye, reminding me of elementary school lunches where I would trade almost anything for these succulent berries that i've never seen in stores. Leaving with a full bag and a plant in one hand, the local animal shelter's display with live cats draws me in. We talk and I volunteer to help out at an upcoming event, hoping to both use it to meet people, but as an excuse to leave work at a reasonable hour.

With my fingertips stained with berry juice, it seems like Kentucky may be the place for me after all.