°“lt. I“. the meuntaine s-AfisHBURN {(‘t's'ro.Vr (. .-XBINE TRY } {AUTOCAD DESIGN} {PLatS‘3.‘ERL\rG} 3% "we, Terry Light Sales & Leasing Consultant Please call 802-660-8099 x-107 (1-800-833-594.5) Cell 802-309-0554. or E-mail terry@bur|ingtoncars.com for information or appointment 333 Shelburne Road, Burlington, Vermont 05401 Bu lington Subaru From outdoor picnics to special dinner parties... City Market has all the ingredients! !\/\ Your Community—Owned Grocery Store Open 7 am - .l 1 pm every day - 802-86313659 , lay, C. Onion River Own 82 South Winooski Avenue, Burlington EBT cards, CATcards, Knight Cards 81 manufacturers’ coupons welcome! Amazon Trail: A Farmer's Market Romance en all the rest of my life is in transition, there is one thing I can count on: the farmers’ market. The burgeoning growth of farmers’ markets has been a joy in my life. There’s something about going out to buy produce and plants on a Saturday morning that brightens my whole week. Tables of dark leafy greens laid next to baskets of glow- ing tomatoes, tents of sugar-speckled baked goods that somehow seem healthier for being sold outdoors, lines of nursery pots sprouting light green lettuces and yellow day lilies, stands filled with raspberries, blue- berries, strawberries, blackberries too tempting to pass up — this is the fruit of the land, the richness of America. Farmers’ markets serve another purpose in our society. As my girl said the other day, they’re a good place to meet lesbians when 3 our dogs stop to sniff “Somehow, people know what to say when attached to a leash.” We didn’t have dogs with us, but we did meet at a farmers’ market. I was staffing the Audubon Society booth, and she, with her late partner, stopped for A information. The booth might as well have been lavender. Excited to be approached by a couple of dykes, I went into such an energetic song and dance about Audubon meetings and field trips, I’m lucky I didn’t scare them off. They showed up at the next meeting, and the next and That was ten years ago. In every town, the fann- ers’ market seems to be the place for liberals as well as lesbians to meet and greet one other. Markets draw those of us who reached our maturi- ty in the days of the back-to-the—land movement, when college graduates were dropping out to try and make a living with leatherwork and pottery. There was a street in every town back then with a food coop, a head shop, a leather goods store, a wood- worker, a jewelry maker, a gallery or two and a hole in the wall that sold smoothies and carrot cake. Now these reluctant capitalists have long gray hair and sell at the farmers’ markets. It’s true about the dogs too. At a market of any appreciable size, the dog owners stop to admire one another’s canine friends and there always seems to be a dog food Inch or pet bed maker who ’s giving out treats. Sometimes it takes a pass or two before the twin boxers or the growly Belgian shepherd move on and the Border collies and cocker spaniels can get their turns. Tiny ter- riers sniff shaggy sheepdogs, and a Corgi leash gets tangled in the rope some kid’s got attached to her new Lab puppy’s collar. the pro-gay table. It looks like it’ll happen again with the gay marriage issue. The farmers’ market is a town square. — Eugene, Oregon is known as a spot old hippies go to die, and dozens of them gather at the huge Saturday Market downtown. Not only are they pushing their crafts, they’re making music on the grass or at the bandstand. The smell of pot has been replaced by the smells of a food court that outdoes any indoor mall. From falafel to burritos, spanikopita to fried rice, the crowd — and it’s truly a crowd — keeps the cooks busy. There are two full 7% blocks of crafts in mazes of covered ' tables. Growers line four city blocks with fresh and homemade goods. Though I love to imagine what a market in New York would be like, I can’t visualize a better one than Eugene’s, which is colorful, festive, Farmers’ markets are a ood place to meet esbians when our dogs stop to sniff. Not every market is cami- val-sized. In the small town I’m moving to, there may be only two vendors parked in the lot next to the tiny natural food store, but what vendors! Their trucks are heaped to the brims with fruits and veggies. The farmers’ market is a cooperative roadside stand. Farmers’ markets may not be strictly an American tradition, but they’re definitely democratic. Not only do sales keep some small farm- ers going, they are a means for the grower to deal directly with the cus- tomer. Entrepreneurs other than crafispeople show up too, hawking salad dressings and jellies, herbal massage oils and barbeque sauces. Political tables often dot the entrances, proselytizing for every persuasion. During the ballot meas- ure wars in Oregon we sometimes had the anti-gay table across from busy and tends to sell at fresh mar- ket prices. So it was only natural that when my girl and I were unwittingly falling for each other, just friends, we’d travel to visit the biggest, old- est and most authentic farmers’ mar- ket. We took our time and wandered the mazes admiring and laughing and buying and just having a great time together. When we dress up now, she wears her tie-dyed poncho and I wear my tie-dyed button-down shirt — I can see in her eyes the memory of that day when everything began to change for us. Cupid had a stall there, I swear. V Copyright 2004 Lee Lynch. Lynch is the author of eleven books including The Swashbuckler and the Morton River Valley Trilogy. She lives on the Oregon Coast. Her web page is at http.‘//leeIynch6.trhaodcom.