Farm Stand Aficionado
EVERY TOWN HAS ITS FARMERS MARKET these days, usually on Saturday mornings. I don’t always make it, though: If I’m traveling or especially busy on a Saturday, I miss my chance to pick up my usual bag of salad greens, eggs and whatever else catches my eye. Fortunately for me, some local towns hold their farmers markets on a weekday afternoon. Depending which route I took that day, one used to be right on my way home from work—very convenient for picking up something for a summertime meal.
Some vendors are eager to engage you in conversation, recommending their morning glory muffins or offering advice on how to use shallots.
Others lean in the opposite direction. They’re super relaxed—as though they were looking for a spot to knit or read, and just happened to find a comfortable seat beside an enormous barrel of salad greens. If you ask, they’ll sell you some. Vendors may duck out for a break, leaving their friend—the alpaca farmer who sells wool—to cover for them. If you’re up for a chat, just smile and before you know it, you’ve met an ex-nun who makes goat cheese and have a standing invitation to visit her farm.
There’s just one tiny problem:
Whose spinach to buy? There’s always more than one farmer selling the same item. I feel guilty when I pass someone by.
And that’s why I love farm stands:
They just stand there! In New Hampshire in July and August, vegetable stands spring up overnight like mushrooms. They are small, unpredictable and nopressure. More often than not, they operate on the honor system. Some are plain and simple: just a table, or a pair of sawhorses topped with planks. Others have awnings, signs, black-boards with price lists, banners that say “OPEN,” shelves with gleaming amber rows of honey jars. One sells buckets of compost. (Just return the bucket next time you stop.) I never know what I’ll find there, which is fine, because I never know exactly what I’m looking for.
Some farm stands are fixtures of the summer, while others are ephemeral: a gardener suddenly has too much corn, squash or beans so he makes a sign and sets it out by the road. There are crates of veggies, a cooler for eggs, a cookie tin for cash, and jars spilling bouquets of bachelor buttons, zinnias and snapdragons. I’ve learned not to count on these farm stands, but when I see one, I almost always stop and buy something—even if it’s one zucchini—for encouragement. I’m a farm stand aficionado; I might stop at three or four if I’m not in a hurry to get somewhere.
One September afternoon, I spotted a sign for peaches. Just beyond it, sitting on the long grass, was an old oak dresser, its surface crowded with yellow fruit. There was no orchard or house in sight, but I knew the area. The farmer down the road had placed his fruit stand at the nearest intersection to catch the traffic. I selected a bagful of small but delicious peaches, and put my money in the designated cash drawer. The dresser was there again a few days later, and I bought more peaches. Then it was gone. I’ll be looking for it next September.
I still grow a few tomato plants and herbs every summer, but for the most part, I’ve given up gardening in favor of farm stand hopping. There’s nothing like enjoying the fruits of others’ labor. NHH
By Laurie D. Morrissey | Illustration by Carolyn Vibbert
