americana

Every Saturday morning M and I walk to Farmer's Market, she on her bike and me with my pack. We talk along the way about things we want to buy, she always wants the same two things and my list varies depending on what's in season. Last weekend was the last of the asparagus, freesias were only here for a week or two but the summer fruit is bursting at the seams and the corn guy will be here for another month at least. Today we had a long list, squash and cauliflower, corn and basil, onions and peppers and all sorts of fruit. It's the food I crave but it's also the people, just being there often equals what we take away.

I see the older Mexican couple who man the strawberry table every single week. They love M but then again they love all the kids, they are always handing out samples and adding more berries to our baskets and talking to each other Linda, Querida, Bonita with smiles whenever M stops by. Today she ran over when I was still at the squash booth and made off with a basket of raspberries, I looked over and they are laughing and smiling as she's stealing them blind. The cookie lady isn't quite so agreeable, M must make her request with as much politeness as possible Please may I have a cookie? or the lady schools her on her manners while quite pointedly looking at me. Good thing her cookies are perfect, this time they met in the middle and agreed that Please can I have a cookie will do and I bite my tongue every week because she reminds me of an older version of Mary Poppins and for some reason that makes me want to please her too.

Women glide past in saris, the peaches and blues and greens are sublime and I want to reach out and touch them but I smile instead. The ladies with funky vegetable carrying contraptions never fail to cut us off mid stride and the old folks walk too slow and the parents are always distracted with their kids and there are at least 10 different languages being spoken at once. There is always music and once a month it's our friend with his afro-caribbean reggae goodness. Whenever he sees M he stops mid-song and calls out her name and gives her a kiss and we stop and dance and sing along. Today the old guy singing blues was there and the kids were dancing all over the place irregardless of the beat which made him mess up his song a couple of times because he couldn't help but laugh at them falling all over the place dancing like it's the Stones instead of Coltrane.

The sun is shining and tails are wagging and everywhere you look people are using reusable bags. The coffee house is jumping, the falafel guy has a line several people deep and the folks manning the Obama table get all kinds of cheers and waves and grins.

And every week after our pack is full and our money is gone we sit for awhile as M eats her cookie and I lean back into the sun and think to myself that there is no perfect moment more perfect than this.