For about a month now, I have been making trips to our local farmer's market. I wasn't sure why it attracted me so, but I was aware of a feeling of peace that washed over me while I was there. As I was sharing my latest trip with Matthew, the pieces started falling into place.
It still has that "Mom and Pop" feeling that I love. When I bring my produce to the cashier, he looks me in the eye and asks if I have tried this or that. He asks me if the honey I bought is working to fight my allergies. Today, he followed us out to the edge of the parking lot to return the $15 that Anna Cate dropped from her pocket. In an area where neighbors don't wave when you drive by, this kind of openness brings me comfort.
Also, the rows of fresh veggies and canned goods in Mason jars just make me feel close to my roots. It brings back the memory of the pressure cooker's sound when the canned beans are ready and the taste of a cucumber straight from the garden, peeled, with a little bit of salt sprinkled over it. The vegetables aren't shiny or waxy to the touch. They still have a little dust on them. Granted, it's not Georgia clay, but it's something.
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So, now that I have a refrigerator full of fresh veggies and a new jar of apple butter, I'll soldier on for a few more weeks. But if you see me with a faraway look in my eyes and a slight smile on my face, you can bet I'm humming a Zac Brown song, conjuring up the smell of honeysuckle intermingled with mosquito spray.
i'm joining you in those daydreams...but i must admit i think i'm getting to be a little closer in the cultural climate than you...
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