Parts of the allure of attending Farmer’s Markets this time of year are all the memories I’ll treasure long after my produce has rotted err been consumed and the familiar rituals that accompany the pilgrimages. The alarm clock buzzing at 6:30 am (okay, I hate my alarm clock buzzing at 6:30 am even in the summer when it’s always sunny and usually warm by then) the smell of coffee wafting through my kitchen, deciding whether or not to shower, inevitably throwing on yesterdays sundress because I can’t possibly put together something cute let alone color coordinated, sans stains and that fits in time to race out the door and make it down to my Mother’s in time. She leaves promptly at 7:00 am and not a minute later unless my sister and her youngest daughter are attending in which case, whenever the little one arrives is fine with Grandma.

I don’t always attend with them anymore but when I do, it’s with Christmas morning excitement and anticipation. I never know how the day will go or what beautiful gems will be waiting for as at the market. But I do know the day will be fun and full of laughs because my sister’s wit and sense of humor is roll on the floor hilarious even at that hour of the morning. The drives down I usually sit in the front seat next to her because Grandma always “gets” to sit next to any present grandchild. My youngest niece has been attending the market since birth and has personal relationships with many of the farmers and vendors. It’s hysterical watching her interact with her “lifelong” friends.

Toddlers and Tiaras
Once the battle for a parking place has been conquered, we grab our tote bags and the “baby carriage” my mother insists on using in lieu of a proper farmer’s market rolling cart and head for main entrance. That’s right, despite the last of her grandchildren grew out of high chairs and sippy cups five years ago, my mother pushes a baby stroller through the market anyway. “Why should I throw out a perfectly good stroller, Kathleen? It’s holds everything thing I need and has lots of places to hang all my bags.”

It is very green of her, I’ll give her that. By accident or on purpose, “How about out of practicality, Kathleen?”, she’ll often choose the most hilarious piece of produce she can find—a gargantuan cauliflower, a colossal head of Kale or a massive watermelon and place it smack where the baby would normally slump. People often point and whisper, laugh out loud and comment on her “ugly baby.” When the stroller is empty people will ask if she needs help finding her baby.

Off to the Races
Despite that we’ve been going to this market for a good ten years, when we get to the main gate, it’s anyone’s guess on where we’ll go first. Many people have shopping strategies—they might hit the outside stalls first and then when the morning chill has given way to the inevitable heat and humidity of summer, they venture indoors.

Our family has a strategy too. Carol and I are held hostage by an old lady and her grandchild. We can place hurry up and wait as they zigzag through the market dashing from whatever stalls they want to see when they want to see them or go off on our own. Maya loves market and is a very social child. She looks forward to visiting all her “friends” as much as she looks forward to all the samples and free flowers. The child picks up every single flower on the ground and by the end of the day she has Zsa Zsa Gabor’s wedding bouquet.

Eeny, Meeny, Miny, Mo
Maya is notorious for having to visit every booth and typically likes to start by passing 22 vendors on her way to the soap lady. After greeting the Japanese woman who makes all the soaps and candles, Maya ritualistically sniffs and handles almost everything on display. When she’s done and has caught up on the week’s soap news with her friend, before she dashes off to visit with the bee keeper down the row, if she hasn’t talked her Mom into purchasing a half dozen bars of soap for a random sampling of loved ones (a teacher, her best friend Rees, her Grandpa who doesn’t use frilly-girly soaps) Maya’s usually always given a beautifully wrapped sample bar of soap just for stopping by (and drawing a crowd from what I can tell).

It makes no sense to visit the bee keeper next because he’s two rows and ten stalls away but everything’s mapped out in Maya’s head so that’s where we usually go next. Bees’ stung Maya twice in one week two summers ago and it’s taken a village to help her get over her fears. Paramount to her healing was educating her on bees and their role in the Animal Kingdom. We saved Nature shows and watched them with her, read lots of books on bees and sampled many, many jars of honey.

When she’d visit my house, we’d venture into my garden and find the bed with the most flowers in bloom. I’d pull her into my lap and we’d sit and watch the bees work. The first time we did this she lasted less than a minute. Eventually she was able to sit for ten minutes or so and she even learned to relax. She began noticing the difference between Honey Bees, Yellow Jackets, Wasps and Bumble Bees. She learned to distinguish between the Queen, Worker Bees and Drones. She was fascinated with the pollen often present and clinging to bee’s fuzzy hairs.

The beekeeper at the market is a spry 70 something and often brings a “real hive” encased in Plexiglas. Maya is fascinated with being able to walk right up to the bees and “touch” them without getting stung. She gets into some heady conversations with the beekeeper. Last week it was the state of the bee population in Michigan. He talks to her like she’s an adult and she listens very intently. Their visit usually ends with Maya choosing a small jar of lemon honey for everyone in her family all of whom have a surplus of at least three jars of lemon honey given to them previously by Maya. How fast can one go through a jar of lemon honey?

Colossal Donut Day
No matter what stall we’re at, Maya sounds the “Donut Alarm” at precisely 9:00 o’clock and we all head over to the bakery where the ladies behind the counter are expecting her. They always, always have the “biggest” donut waiting just for her.

When she was old enough to realize the donuts in the case weren’t uniform in size because they were hand formed, she was faced with a very big conundrum. She just had to have the biggest donut because it was always the shiniest and most beautiful. Because they always pick up the “next one”, she wasn’t quite sure how to go about getting the ladies behind the case to choose the biggest donut when it was finally her turn.

Very early on, when she was almost four, she turned to Mama for advice, “When it’s your turn,” Mama said, “Greet the ladies with your prettiest smile and say, 'Good Morning, I’d like your biggest donut.'” This made a lot of sense and it worked! “Mama, Mama, Mama!” she cried the very first time she was handed the very biggest donut, “I got the biggest donut. They gave it to me!”

Last year, the bakery decided to host a Colossal Donut Day. The head baker made donuts the size of coffee cakes! The ladies decided to play a trick on Maya. When she arrived to the counter and placed her usual order they handed her a bakery box tied with pretty pink string. “Can I open it Mama?” Without waiting for an answer, she brushed away the string and opened the box. Her star stuck eyes and Crescent Moon Smile went from shock and awe to pure delight. Witnessing her reaction you would have thought that child had been awarded the top prize in the Kiddie Lottery and a litter of new baby kittens. With the pageantry of a newly crowned Beauty Queen Maya stood for pictures and then paraded that donut around the entire market.

After our Donut break we continue shopping until Maya and Grandma decide it’s time to go to garage sales—our other favorite Saturday pastime. Carol and I had better be done shopping on queue or we’ll just have to wait till next week to pick up this week’s groceries. When they’re done, they’re done!

kd@chefkathleen.com