Farmer's Market Friday

It’s Farmer’s Market day.  The last Friday I went over it seemed like a postcard picture day.  The sun was shining, a soft breeze blowing – not too cold or hot.  Our local Farmer’s Market is set in the middle of our little village in a park shaded by old maples with a large fountain set at the center.  The grass is green, and although I have never seen anyone mow it, it is the perfect length and softness that if you wanted to go barefoot it wouldn’t hurt.  The fact that there is no dog poo either is utterly amazing.  The people around here take care of their dog’s business.  It’s a sense of pride in the community, I think, and an all-around niceness of the community.

I say all of this now, in the middle of July, as the sun beats down on the tops of our heads and shoulders, warming my heart and soul and making me feel generous towards my fellow man and woman.  I don’t always feel this way.  In mid-February I could hibernate and never see another soul and I would be just fine.  Yet, in the summer, in this setting, even if I do only get a half hour, it is the best of times.

Sitting on the newly painted park bench (still looks wet, but the bright green is definitely dry), I watch the vendors selling fresh vegetables or baked goods.  Some sell organic meat and I think of what a sweet deal I get every year.  Not organic, but grass-fed and cheap.  Organic may or may not be the greatest thing, I don’t know, but it is way too expensive for me.

There is a man playing guitar and singing folk songs that I recognize from music class when I was a kid.   The music is not overwhelming and I can hear the murmur of people bartering or running into their neighbors or acquaintances. 

I look to my right and there is a group of folks of all different ages, sizes and in a totally different assortment of clothing that are practicing Tai chi.  Sometimes I wish I had an hour for lunch – I could get in on that too.  Watching them, however, is very relaxing and it helps me exhale.

At the fountain is a young woman and her best friend (I’m assuming).  She is a larger girl who seems to have a minor case of Downs Syndrome.  (If there is a better way to describe that, please let me know)  She’s crying over a boy who doesn’t understand.  I want to go up to her and tell her that they never do understand, but that it isn’t important.  What is important is that she understands and learns from it.  I don’t, of course.  No one takes advice from strangers unless they are famous strangers.  Her friend lets her go on to cry it out, like a good friend.  Her tears bring tears to my eyes, but then they walk away and she becomes the past.

I feel like I am in the opening scenes of a Hallmark movie.  The colors are so beautiful although somewhat hazy.  I have not worn my glasses, out of vanity, but also because I want this time.  If I see someone and acknowledge them I will give away this little bit of my own Twilight Zone.  This zone that allows me to be a part of this scene, but just as an observer, unless I choose to take that step and walk into it.  Once in I would have to make the choice to stay there forever or to step out and go back to my office.  Although I’d like to stay, responsibility sends me back to my desk.

Someday I would like to be able to step through that haze, but I will take this day and hold it in my memory and look back on it when it comes to mind on a warm sunny day.  The sights, the smells, the sounds all will remind me of a place where I could belong if I really wanted to.  If I trusted myself to society instead of my loner existence.  Where I would no longer be the anonymous girl taking pictures or buying flowers or eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich under a 200 year old maple.