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The Farmers Market
Dealing with death
Yesterday, Gina rescued me from aloneness to run errands with her around town, followed by lunch at our favorite Mexican restaurant. Errands done, we traversed from the southwest to the northwest areas of town, driving through Haile Plantation, one of my city’s largest housing developments. As we passed its town center, I was flooded with memories of Ben and I going to the farmer’s market there.
My city has several farmer’s markets held on different days of the week, but the Saturday market at Haile was by far our favorite. We’d arrive at 8 am while vendor booths were still being assembled and eat breakfast at one of the restaurants along the town center’s main street. Our favorite served the most delicious crepes. After breakfast, we’d walk up and down the street, stopping at booths to buy vegetables, fruits, fresh flowers, and plants.
We last went to that market in December 2019, right before the pandemic hit. Fast forward to 2023, Ben was getting settled in dialysis and we were getting out more. We talked about going to the Haile Market, but I started working weekends in 2020.
I promised Ben we’d spend Saturday mornings at the market once I retired at the end of October 2024 — just one of the many ways I wanted us to get out more once I wasn’t working all the time.
