Farmers Market chats.

Okay. So i couldn't figure out where the apostrophe goes in the title, so i left it out.

A few Saturdays ago i went to our Castro Valley market held in the parking lot of the BART, our local Bay Area Rapid Transit station. The market had recently opened for this year's nicer weather, and it was my first time attending this year.

It's small, just two shortish rows of vegetables and fruit, with a third row of ready-made yummies such as scones, meat pies, and fudge. (Notice the sweets got two mentions?) A few artisan stands run along the end of the food rows, selling things like jewelry and local honey. One of those stands held necklaces of brightly colored, playfully decorated handcrafted ceramic whistles. i stopped to see the whistles and stayed for the conversation (as i tend to do.)

The whistle crafter was talking to a passerby about relationships, and as soon as i stopped they included me. The subject seemed to be men and the longevity (or lack thereof) of the relationships they'd had, both being divorced. i was the stand-out, nearing our 32nd anniversary in September.

The whistle crafter began talking of the recent reconnection with an old boyfriend of 50 years ago. "Back in the '50s, when you had sex it was in the car with all your clothes on," she said.

Being but a mere babe in the '50s and obviously more shy than she, i managed to mutter an embarrassed "Oh! i did not know that."

"Oh yes," she said, "and he remembers exactly what I was wearing that night--all I remember is that I was shoved up against the steering wheel--"

i honestly can't spell the exact sounds i was making, trying to utter something showing interest without appearing as surprised as i felt by this naked flow of information.

The conversation continued, as i love learning about people's lives, seeing things through another's eyes. The conversation was just the frosting on the cake of my morning full of fresh greens and berries and squash, and the smells surrounding me of the sharpness of arugula and the contrast of a woman's heavy perfume as she passed.

"i loved this day!" i thought as i gathered my bags of fresh romaine, strawberries and golden beets. i was taking home farm fresh squash and the stories of romance past and present of an energetic 70 year old woman. It was the story of two paths diverted and once again crossing because they're both involved in the boards of their local farmers' (farmer's??) market associations, proving that "local, sustainable, and renewable" applies to relationships as well as produce.

Do you have any local market stories of your own? Chance encounters? Favorite fresh foods? Share, please!