Farmers' Market

We went to the farmers' market today
to taste the colors and see the smells
and be touched to hear a lady say,
"I need one bunch of sunflowers please."
She didn’t say "I'd like" but whispered "I need"
as if a niche in her empty days cried out
for circles of gold 'round spirals of black seed
clutched in a Ball quart jar. Beyond her,

boxes and bags wove under an awning

of patchwork shade made wider by canopies

and sagging tarps lashed to the yawning

tailgates of trailers and trucks. Some so

broken down and wired up that otherwise

they’re never seen in town, but these eyesores

on this day become a sight for sore eyes—

backed up and spilling heaps of leafy greens,
carrots and cukes and vine-ripe tomatoes,

chives and cherries, blue and strawberries,

peppers and sweet corn and red-skin potatoes.

Each plank and table bends with things so fresh

they don’t yet miss their stems or stalks.
“Who will buy” sings out at every turn.

It’s in the way each vendor talks

of rain and sun and the stewardship of soil.

It’s in the way each buyer understands

the work behind the scribbled cards and signs

as cash and coins and quarts pass hands.

It’s in the way this cornucopia reminds

us that beyond the beeping, bustling lines

of traffic and blocks of towering brick

are places where rain falls and sun shines

on garden rows and orchard lanes

that rustle in the summer breeze.

It's in the jars of honeycomb

plundered from stacked-up hives of bees

and waiting to be poured out
on bread made just the night before

in a kitchen left a mess from baking,

left with flour on the floor
and the smell of warm yeast in the air.

The aroma of the crusted mounds
of wheat and rye and cinnamon
mingles with the sights and sounds
of Cain’s offering put to proper use
by those who grow and them that gather there
to taste and see and touch and smell
and carry off their needed share.

© TRK Patterns of Ink, Copyright, 2007

Saturday and Wednesday mornings a farmers' market sets up at a covered parking lot by the Grand Haven board walk. Sometimes we go there on our way to our favorite antique shops, and it has occurred to me that two pastimes couldn't be more unalike: Bright perishable goods that shout "Buy me this minute while I'm fresh" VS. faded, dusty things that whisper, "Buy me. I'm so old I'm worth more now than when I was new.”

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This piece attempts to touch all of the senses, but I used the verbs taste and see twice in conjunction (in the second line and second-from-the-end). This pairing comes from the Psalms and seems to say, "Focus one sense on the goodness of this one thing and it will open your eyes."

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The Grand Haven Farmers' Market looks a bit like this one in Ann Arbor (except this is footage from the early fall). Here's a clip from Boulder, Colorado, [also shot in the fall] that shows the vendor's point of view. (BTW, my wife and I lived one year in Muncie, Indiana, home of Ball canning jars, whose namesake's legacy includes Ball State University.)

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And lastly, here are two more Youtube links in case it's been a while since you've heard or seen the song "Who Will Buy" from Oliver. (That is the long film version. It loses the "fresh produce" touch after the first few minutes. Here's a shorter stage production of the song.)

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[Photos from the talented folks at flickr.com.]

"Bringing Home the Duncan Phyfe" Part II is still on its way... =)