The Farmers Market

Would you ever consider motorcycle trips on Saturday summers to visit all the growers markets in your state?

Two weeks ago, in tandem stagger, my friend and I were visiting the Santa Fe Growers Market, twenty years difference is between us , yet it never has stifled our laughter. I limp and browse, keeping in mind of my mission — clearly celery , now cooing in my arms along the crisp lines of the market that follows along the rail yard, which the rows are as stiff as the celery stalks. The vendors are in line, with their crowns covered in big brimmed hats , are quiet as the crowds. Shushed and humble are the farmers, who are truly gods to have created such a bounty. I’ll always choose the company and carrots with the most personality.

This weekend’s rain challenges the motorcyclist and her path to downtown and hopes the farmer’s goods are in their peninsula of the Albuquerque Growers Market , it’s been a while from the last visit, this is a whole new bag of potatoes for me. I solo wind around the moat of salesmanship, there is enough time between each tent to make eye contact with the wares’ and the sellers, there is enough history to know a few faces and a big welcome and hello in an easy nod, there is enough to say my mission was to buy only from women today and came home with a big sack of little things that packs a punch of flavor.

I know now the difference from a green tractor and a red one. I know how it feels to be in a morning crowd , choosing to walk more of a snake’s path than a good road. If you can keep your gaze down you may see the other dynamics of markets in parks , the pets get to experience exactly the same thing as we. And if we are lucky enough, we can see something better than an middle aged woman holding celery like a baby, but a 2 year old in pig tails with a cup of fruit in one hand and the other hand waving and saying bye -bye to everyone, including the unlikely leashed.