Our farmers’ market is finally getting going. The stinky man selling soap (the irony is almost too much!) is having to share booth space with vendors actually selling produce. The woman selling wool yarn has packed up her wares until the fall, but alas, the man selling treacly maple syrup will always be there. Last Saturday there were strawberries, in those adorable, frosty blue quart containers, the nubby cardboard working hard to contain the luscious berries.
Here in Connecticut there has been a lot of rain lately. A lot– you would think we were in Oregon. But last weekend there seemed to be a break in the weather. The sun peered through the clouds on Saturday morning, and it seemed as though everyone had the same idea. Brian and I used to live just down the street from the farmer’s market. We would [...]

It’s nice living within a walking distance from a thriving farmers’ market. Each Saturday morning, after a strong cup of coffee, and a slice or two of toast, I grab my Moe’s tote (a proud relic of my Berkeley days) and Brian and I take a stroll down to Wooster Square. I peruse what the vendors have for sale each week, and although it is fresh, bright, and bountiful, I must admit, it is standard fare. The summer squash is just zucchini, there are a few peaches, but simply the yellow sort, and although the tomatoes are plentiful, there are just a handful of the heirloom variety. As I pick up my bundles it is hard for me not to remember the potato man at the Union Square Greenmarket fondly, and to think back to the multi-colored hues of a California cauliflower. (I know, I [...]