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A local bread vendor, Katie Made, and I get into a discussion about Anadama bread, which I used to make for my kids when they were young. I haven't made that bread in years and I wonder why. When your kids are little, you think you don't have time to make homemade goods but you do anyway, or I did. Now my kids are grown and one is away and I still don't make homemade bread. It was a great pleasure of mine too. At any rate, the vendor and me laugh at the origin of the name, Anadama, and I pick up a loaf of something I've never tried before - Van Staden Mosbolletjies. She tells me it's a south African bread and has a hint of licorice. She says that people resist it at first because of the licorice flavor but once they try it, they come back and buy two loaves. A new bread, a new taste adventure.
My favorite pepper growers are here now. I spy glistening green peppers as big as a man's fist on their table and I quickly buy four, along with some onions. I see stuffed green peppers on my table in the near future.
I run into a vendor, someone I knew in Mountain Grove, and he tells me again that I sure look like my daddy. I guess it depends on who you talk to because I've heard that I look exactly like my dad and I've been told I look exactly like my mother. Either way, you can tell who I belong to.
A quart of blackberries (for a desert I'll have to find the recipe for), two pounds of green beans and a bouquet of pink and white gladiolas later, I'm ready to head for the car and my water bottle I left there accidentally.
I love coming to the market. It's a reminder of who we all are on this planet and what we all want, which is to be loved, nurtured and accepted. And it's part of the writing life, I believe, to surround yourself with the things you love and appreciate and allow those things to nurture your soul.
What do you think? Do you agree?
