Amazon Trail
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The Amazon Trail A Farmer's Market Romance |
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by
Lee Lynch
When all the rest of my life
is in transition, there is one thing I can count on: the farmer's market.
The burgeoning growth of farmers markets
has been a joy in my life. There's something about going out to buy produce
and plants on a Saturday morning that brightens my whole week. Tables
of dark leafy greens laid next to baskets of glowing tomatoes, tents of
sugar-speckled baked goods that somehow seem healthier for being sold
outdoors, lines of nursery pots sprouting light green lettuces and yellow
day lilies, stands filled with raspberries, blueberries, strawberries,
blackberries too tempting to pass up - this is the fruit of the land,
the richness of America.
Farmers' markets serve another purpose in
our society. As my girl said the other day, they're a good place to meet
lesbians when our dogs stop to sniff. "Somehow, people know what
to say when attached to a leash." We didn't have dogs with us, but
we did meet at a farmers' market. I was staffing the Audubon Society booth,
and she, with her late partner, stopped for information. The booth might
as well have been lavender. Excited to be approached by a couple of dykes,
I went into such an energetic song and dance about Audubon meetings and
field trips, I'm lucky I didn't scare them off. They showed up at the
next meeting, and the next and... That was ten years ago.
In every town, the farmers' market seems
to be the place for liberals as well as lesbians to meet and greet one
other. Markets draw those of us who reached our maturity in the days of
the back-to-the-land movement, when college graduates were dropping out
to try and make a living with leatherwork and pottery. There was a street
in every town back then with a food coop, a head shop, a leather goods
store, a woodworker, a jewelry maker, a gallery or two and a hole in the
wall that sold smoothies and carrot cake. Now these reluctant capitalists
have long gray hair and sell at the farmers' markets.
It's true about the dogs too. At a market
of any appreciable size, the dog owners stop to admire one another's canine
friends and there always seems to be a dog food or pet bed maker who's
giving out treats. Sometimes it takes a pass or two before the twin boxers
or the growly Belgian shepherd move on and the Border collies and cocker
spaniels can get their turns. Tiny terriers sniff shaggy sheepdogs, and
a Corgi leash gets tangled in the rope some kid's got attached to her
new Lab puppy's collar.
Not every market is carnival-sized. In the
small town I'm moving to, there may be only two vendors parked in the
lot next to the tiny natural food store, but what vendors! Their trucks
are heaped to the brims with fruits and veggies. The farmers' market is
a cooperative roadside stand.
Farmers' markets may not be strictly
an American tradition, but they're definitely democratic. Not only do
sales keep some small farmers going, they are a means for the grower to
deal directly with the customer. Entrepreneurs other than craftspeople
show up too, hawking salad dressings and jellies, herbal massage oils
and barbeque sauces. Political tables often dot the entrances, proselytizing
for every persuasion. During the ballot measure wars in Oregon we sometimes
had the anti-gay table across from the pro-gay table. It looks like it'll
happen again with the gay marriage issue. The farmers' market is a town
square.
Eugene, Oregon is known as a spot old hippies
go to die, and dozens of them gather at the huge Saturday Market downtown.
Not only are they pushing their crafts, they're making music on the grass
or at the bandstand. The smell of pot has been replaced by the smells
of a food court that outdoes any indoor mall. From falafel to burritos,
spanikopita to fried rice, the crowd - and it's truly a crowd - keeps
the cooks busy. There are two full blocks of crafts in mazes of covered
tables. Growers line four city blocks with fresh and homemade goods. Though
I love to imagine what a market in New York would be like, I can't visualize
a better one than Eugene's, which is colorful, festive, busy and tends
to sell at fresh market prices.
So it was only natural that when my girl
and I were unwittingly falling for each other, just friends, we'd travel
to visit the biggest, oldest and most authentic farmers' market. We took
our time and wandered the mazes admiring and laughing and buying and just
having a great time together. When we dress up now, she wears her tie-dyed
poncho and I wear my tie-dyed button-down shirt - I can see in her eyes
the memory of that day when everything began to change for us. Cupid had
a stall there, I swear.
Lee Lynch is the author of eleven books including The Swashbuckler and the Morton River Valley Trilogy. She lives on the Oregon Coast, and comes from a New England family. Her web page is at leelynch6.tripod.com
© Lee Lynch 2004