Farmers Market Saturday

In Pearland, the Parks and Recreation Department sponsors a farmers market on the third Saturday of each month.  My mother had noticed this in a local news mailer and I had clipped it and put it on the refrigerator under a magnet.

Yesterday, I did the math and realized the market would be this week, so I sent a text to my mother and brother, asking them if they were interested in going.

At about 6:20 this morning, my mother replied, “What time?”  Getting no response (because we were all still asleep), she wrote at 7:45, “I think I will pass.”  

This was tricky.  I did not want to force her to do something she’d decided not to do. BUT … this could have been her way of forcing US to act. (My mother is a double black belt in the martial art of motherly guilt judo.)

My brother called me shortly afterwards to strategize and we decided to extend her an invitation to go to the market at 10:00.  She made us stew a little, then said, “OK, I will go.”

Phew.

I met my brother and his wife and son at my mother’s house and off we went.

Now, when I think of a farmers market, I imagine stalls of produce, where your purchases are placed in a brown paper bag, still lightly dusted with the dirt from which they had been plucked that morning.  I don’t think of the following:

*   A karate school demonstrating exercises.

*   About fifteen Etsy-style clothing stalls, with things like dog bandannas and bibs saying, “Baby’s First Easter.”

*    Crystals, both for collectors and for meditation.

*    Psychiatric counseling services.

But there they were, all looking for engagement and business, eyes tracking you like a falcon on a prairie dog.

I passed on them, but spread the cash around on whipped raw honey, mason jarred giardiniera, caramel corn, a cookie, and two heirloom tomato plants.  (I checked out the tomatoes when I got home and found out that one of the plants produces a small yellow fruit notable for its lack of any discernible flavor.  Oh well.)

We were done by 11:00 and headed for the car when my brother said, “You know, the best farmers market is on Airline and 45.  Let’s go there!”

I looked at my mother and she shrugged.  I shrugged too.

Off we went again.  There are two things to note about this trip.  The Airline market is a REAL farmers market.  There was an unbelievable amount of produce, all super-fresh and diverse.  If I lived near it, I’d probably become a happy vegan.

But … the Airline market is about 430 miles from Pearland, or so it felt.  The trip there was uneventful, and we had lunch at a fish place called Connie’s.  I had a nice fish taco plate with shrimp fried rice.

At the market, I got some very ripe plantains (my favorite starch by a mile), a bag of green beans, and some purple sweet potatoes to mash for pancakes for my grandson.  My mother found a nice white rose bush for her house.  My brother got a bag of oranges and some mangos.

The ride home was okay until we ran into a funeral procession being protected by motorcycle cops.  This is a nice blog, so I am not going to hold it against the guest of honor that he made the long ride home longer.  We all will hold up traffic someday.

Two farmers markets in one day.  That may be a personal record, which I can assure you will never be broken in my lifetime.

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Another aspect of this blog I’m working on: the Library Project.

Here is a picture of my office library.  These are not all of our books, but they are the books we really care about.

The weird part is that I have probably only read about half of the books.  Many are books that looked good when I bought them.  Many are by authors I trust.  Many are about interesting topics.

So, it is my goal to…read them.  All of them.  (Well, all of them except for the dictionaries and reference books. I am a nerd, but not a mega-nerd.)

I will start with the left book cabinet and work my way down.  When I finish one, I will discuss it, and then decide whether to keep it or give it away.  Simple as that.

The first shelf is pretty intimidating:

April 1865, by Jay Winik.  I have not read this, and did not buy it, but who can argue with Civil War history?

Big Bang: The Origin of the Universe, by Simon Singh.  I tackled this a few years ago, but did not finish.  I am looking forward to trying again.

In One Person, by John Irving.  His bisexuality book.  I bought it, it sat on my bedside cabinet for about a year, untouched, and migrated to the library.  John Irving is the writer I always wanted to be, so time to take this one on and see what he has to say.

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Dinner tonight: a grilled pork steak and some coconut rice.  Not super-healthy, but the pork had been in the meat drawer and needed to be cooked or tossed.  My children will tell you that given that choice, I always choose the former.  I am my mother’s son, not letting good food go to waste.

We’ll see how that decision works out for me tomorrow.  Basketball in the morning!

Good night!