The colors and textures are riotous. Nothing compares to the smells, the tastes, the sounds of friends laughing and feeling a distinct pride and sense of community. I love juicy fruit and crisp vegetables, fresh cut flowers and warm scones. In addition to this pleasant assault on my senses, I'm in love with farmer's markets because they hearken to something nestled deep in my soul: the sense of community that modern America has abandoned. Buying locally and supporting the hard work of your neighbors and friends has a literal power in it. The energy that comes from feeling a respectful stewardship of our resources is unparalleled.
I was enchanted by the Penn Quarter FreshFarm market (8th & D-E Streets NW). By comparison to the Salt Lake farmer's market it was tiny (they do have four different markets across the city), but the fundamental sense of space was identical. I overheard people catching up with each other and vendors greeting their weekly regulars by name. If I had a nickel for every hemp tote, bicycle, and hand-written chalk sign boasting "organic" I would be a very rich woman. I would use my fortune to support community markets in every town across America. Then I would buy tree-ripened peaches.
