winter

winter

Saturday, July 20, 2013

Market Day

It's Market Day in Springfield and the sun is already high in the sky. Customers throng the aisles and booths lining up, waiting for the 8:00 am bell before they can purchase their breads and peppers, flowers and tomatoes. I pass a solitary guitarist perched on a stool, his glass tip jar at his feet. Throngs of people pass through, undaunted by the heat and humidity. The market is filled with incessant babble, some of it Indian, or Latino, all mixed sounds reminding me of our common root - food.

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?

1 comment:

  1. Your description reminds me of shopping in markets in Paris and Guatemala. I've never been to the Springfield market, but now I want to go!

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