Farmers Markets, Then & Now

In the fifties, I went to my first farmer's market with my grandfather in his cream-colored Ford coupe. It was a  big day for us and held in a very special place in downtown Tallahassee, Florida. In those days many farmers still worked the land with mules and draft horses and it was exciting to see the wagons piled high with colorful produce parked in shade in front of the market, where the mules and horses accepted pats and gifts of food as city folk passed by.

Held less than a mile from the state capital building, the market stood behind an ancient live oak, its trunk knotty and broad, with branches spreading over the building to shade and protect all within.  It was an open-air, long, rather primitive building, built of nothing more than pine poles and a tin roof, but under that roof were tantalizing smells, bright colors and wonderful sounds. Linguistically, it was a smorgasbord of southern back-country/elite southern/northern accents mixed with the occasional bray of a mule, a heavenly cacophony of sound to my young ears.

While I've not been back to a market in Florida in many years, I have been to a fabulous farmers market in Paris, France, where it seemed every vegetable and every piece of fruit was dripping with luscious flavor and color, with piles of burgundy grapes, pears and greens set as if in a painting. Lyrical French was spoken there as strolling musicians played violins and guitar, and mimes turned up on every corner; to me, everything I saw and heard was beautiful.

  Here, in contemporary Jonesborough, TN, I enjoy the market for what it gives me beyond organic fruits and vegetables. Here, I am part of a community, buying from farmers I know, eating from the land on which I live, and I find the experience both comforting and exhilarating. Here, I've eaten lettuce just taken from the earth in Curtis and Marilyn Buchanan's garden, and reconnected with folks I met while in a play.  Here, I've made new friends, like farmer Jose` who grows the tastiest potatoes I've ever put in my mouth, played with Betty, the nattiest little chicken ever, and bought a lovely deep berry-red Mandevella for my garden.

  When it comes down to it, not only is it healthier to eat organic and close to home, but there's also the organic experience of becoming part of the place in which one lives. Long live the farmer's market.