When I moved to this town four and a half months ago, one of the draws, and one that would form one of my obsessive routines, was the Farmer's Market. It started about two weeks after I had moved, and even though I was far from settled, I wanted to go. I had this planned, and I live so close by that I can walk to the market, so I manned my knapsack and my iPod and off I went. I can remember feeling warm as I reached the top of the hill and looked down into the town...a town which has retained much of the old charm.
For the first week, the crops were perhaps still not ready, and the presence of vendors was sparse, but the weeks that followed brought more vendors to the street.
....the fresh baked breads, croissants and danishes
........farm fresh fruit and vegetables
............fresh brewed coffee, where I would sit and take in the sights and sounds of a Saturday morning.
....and the odd craft and jewellery vendor....
Today is the last day for the Market, and I am left feeling sad. Some of the vendors recognize their regular patrons, and some of those will operate out of other areas during the winter. They volunteered their information and I may visit. As I left the Market, I stood at the top of the hill and looked back. My routine now must change. My Saturday morning jaunt is curtailed.
Somehow, though, I think I will find something to fill that space until the Market returns next year.
Peace.
