One of the sad realities of ‘twenty-first century living’ is that we are disconnected from the people who create the products we use every day — from electronics to the food we eat. My laptop was manufactured in Japan, and my running shoes in Indonesia. My jeans were actually made somewhere in the USA, but I’ll never meet the workers who constructed them. The stewed tomatoes on my pantry shelf are from PA, and the apple sauce came from New York.
It wasn’t always that way. My grandmother personally grew and canned all the vegetables on her pantry shelf, and bought her family’s milk, butter and cheese from Mr. Douglas, the dairy farmer on the corner. She knew the very cows that had given the milk. I treasure the bookcase my father made for me sixty-five years ago, the afghans crocheted by my mother, and the oil paintings done by family and friends.
And that’s why I love summer. Every Friday morning I gather up my cloth shopping bags and head for the local farmers market. Not only do I find the freshest fruits and vegetables at reasonable prices, I get to meet the farmer who grew them. I see the hands that drove the tractor that tilled the land — the hands that picked the tomatoes and corn and squash and peppers early that morning while I slept.
I’ve always admired farm families — the hardworking, honest lifestyle; their contributions to society; their relationship with nature and the changing seasons… When I was a child, my plan was to marry a farmer so that I could live that life. So naturally, I fell in love with a history teacher with allergies to pollen. That doesn’t stop him from accompanying me on Friday mornings.
Most of the market stands are family affairs — husbands and wives,
children, and other relatives carrying produce from trucks and waiting on customers. While his teenaged son removed the husks from my corn, the farmer explained to me why the corn was so sweet this summer. “You can thank the drought,” he said. “Too much rain ‘waters down’ the flavor.”
One Friday, while a vendor was placing squash and potatoes 
into my bag, she shared her favorite recipe for zucchini (with tomatoes and onions.) “Adding a few sprigs of fresh basil to the pot enhances the flavor,” she said. So I headed for the plant and herb stand. It has become our favorite squash recipe. I call it, Farmer’s Market Squash.
I’m fortunate; there’s a farmers market just down the road — one of fourteen such markets in Baltimore County. Even with the approach of Labor Day, some of the markets are still going strong into November. Some of the venues have dozens of vendors, and offer fresh meats, cheeses, and ready-to eat foods, besides the produce. The White Marsh market is smaller, with a steady stream of regulars — all ethnicities, young people pushing strollers, as well as seniors, business people, and families on food stamps.
Typically, after stowing my bags of vegetables in the car, I visit the fruit stands. Maryland peaches, both white and yellow, have been incredible this summer — large, sweet and juicy — best eaten over the kitchen sink. One young vendor shared his method of picking a ripe cantaloupe.
“First, look at the color; the pale ones are more apt to be ripe,” he told me. “Second, feel the texture; it should be kind of smooth, and when you push your thumb into the stem end, it will give a little. And last, smell it — for that sweet, ripe aroma.” My way is simpler. I hold my bag open and ask him to put a cantaloupe in that I can cut for dinner. He hasn’t failed me yet.
I save the baked goods for last. I made the occasional loaf of bread when I was cooking for a
family, but it couldn’t compare to this. Of the many choices, our favorite is the Orange-Cranberry-Pecan Loaf; it’s solid, sliced, and great toasted for breakfast, or for chicken and turkey sandwiches at lunch. This week I visited the honey booth and the fresh flower stand. The coxcombs and daisies are hard to resist in August, and I can’t wait to see those magnificent sunflowers…
Oh yeah — even when humid Baltimore has temperatures in the triple digits, summer is my favorite. What could be cooler than talking to the farmers who actually grow the food for our table?
11 Comments
I love all of your stories but this one really touched me. I grew up along the Lake Pearl Bayou. Our yard was about 40 acres & my grandmother (Momee) had a house about 100 paces from ours. Needless to say there was a trail worn. Every year my mother & grandmother made huge gardens and proudly displayed everything they grew on the kitchen table every night. A little rivalry goin on there but me & my dad never seemed to mind. My grandmother never bought bread, butter, milk, vegetables, – it all came from home. She was a seamstress & made all my clothes growing up. I sleep under one of her quilts. She’d have quilting parties. How I loved the lemonade & gossip – that’s how I learned to speak Cajun French better than English. To make her butter she would cream the milk, put it in a jar, sit on her front porch & pound it on her leg until it turned to butter. Then she’d made the most incredible homemade bread (hands only – no breadmaker there) & smear that sweet butter on it! Why am I fat? hmmm..anyway..my precious Momee has passed and her empty home still stands. My mother still makes her garden while her big black cat Claude follows her around making deposits along the rows. I attend farmers markets also & love the idea of them. We also have a goat farm nearby that makes soap & sells milk & homemade cheeses. When I am there it is like we stepped into a time machine – back of course. Everyone is friendly, talking, laughing, petting goats..the way it should be. Sadly the only thing I can grow is ivy. Not much goin on there.
Please continue writing your stories. They always manage to put a smile on my face and make memories rise outta nowhere.
Mrs. Rowe, After reading your blog, I understand even better why Mike is the way he is. I found my way to your blog after reading his powerful entry on his speaking to the FFA. I am sure you are very proud of him, as you should be. I have just returned to college to study Agriscience and Horticulture at Michigan State University. I am 55 years old and have not yet found my farm or farmer, but I still hope to someday. My daughter is studying Sustainable Agriculture and works at a Farmers Market in Kalamazoo, MI. Maybe she and I will have a farm together someday.
Mrs. Rowe your story brings back childhood memories. My parents use to take us every Saturday to the local farmers market and get fresh fruits and vegetables. One of the farmers wives encouraged me to grow my own garden and I did.
Now I am encouraging and teaching my 7 year old grandson how to garden. We both love the work and the rewards of it.
Thanks for your story.
I just ‘discovered’ your blog and love your writing style!
I especially like this post; I grew up in the country (literally on a one-lane country road) and have always appreciated the farm life. You can’t get much fresher than picking food from the garden and eating it that same day. Canning/freezing are big parts of the life as well. Thank you for the nod to our fellow farm families!
Peggy
You have a feel for the basic – down to earth approach.
(no pun intended)
So nice to meet you on the tour to Crazy Horse and Mt Rushmore.
Tom
Hi Miss Peggy! It’s Mona, your old neighbor & former equine-addicted ingenue…don’t laugh, you had a BIG part in that!
; )
I was thrilled to find out about this article & blog from a dear friend who’s beautiful daughter is in the 1st photo with you. What a treat it was to read this! It really hit home when you said that as a child you planned to marry a farmer…I never knew we were so much alike! I may not have found the right farmer/rancher yet ; ) …but I still love the life. I have an animal care business now called “Mona’s Ark”. There is something so satisfying about understanding & working w/ the land, the animals & the people who share it ~ getting your hands dirty & having something to show for it brings it’s own peace.
My mother really was the green thumb, but animals were always my forte; and I’d like to thank you for helping that along. If you hadn’t been so patient of a mother figure & Shannon such a sweet mare,(even though I secretly always wanted to ride China), my first riding lessons may not have had such lasting impact.
Thank you <3 (for being a great neighbor, a great mother & a great example of a smart, kind, caring woman!)
There are no farmers in my family, but I guess I could be called a simple person. My walls are covered in needlework done by myself and carvings by my late father.I even have furniture in the house made by him. My mother can’t do needlework so I’m a self taught at hand-work (knitting, crocheting, embroidery, etc.),but she does preserves.
Autumn and winter are my bread making seasons, I think bread is best out of one’s own oven.
I don’t attend farmers’ markets, I go directly to the farmers for fruit, vegetables and eggs, and thanks to your post, that’s where I’m heading tomorrow morning.
Thank you Mrs. Rowe for your wonderful stories; they always bring plesant memories to mind.
There are two local farmers markets I frequent. I know what you mean about the bread, yum. The squash, tomato, onion, and basil tastes delicious with pasta as well, my kids love it.
I have to applaude you and your husband.
MY plan was to marry a farmer. Well, at least my fella wasn’t allergic. And he did have a crabbing license, so we had fresh shellfish. Uncle Billy Zang had a peach orchard and also sold vegetables from a white stand on Muddy Creek Road down by Galesville. Those peaches were so sweet. Miss Laura May his widow, still can be found on Saturdays at the Farmers’ Market in Annapolis. So I guess I can say I married into farm people. Another nice story, Mrs. Rowe.
KZ
Mrs. Rowe: as usual, your blog is beautiful in it’s sentimentality and simplicity.
I am usually reminded of aspects of my life and family when reading about the experiences of yours.
My maternal grand-father was a farmer. Nothing large, just a simple place where he grew fresh produce and dairy foods for his family and friends (and a little alfalfa and hay for the horses and cows he kept).
I can recall having dinner under the grape trellis and chasing into the corn field to grab some ears for that nights’ supper.
Then at certain times of the year, my cousins and I would rush into the watermelon patch and pick the biggest one we could find.
Some of us were intrepid enough to drink milk straight from the cow!
My father now owns a small little farm; a place where he can go and play farmer (he is a diplomat and not quite adept at being a farm hand). He has peach, plum, apricot, avocado and almond trees. Lovely to eat them straight off the branch.
I now live in Montgomery County, Maryland.
We have a few Farmwer’s Markets on the weekend in Summer. Many are “trendy” markets designed to attract those for whom organic and fresh are the fad du jour.
But some are wonderful.
I will think of you when next I am there and thank you for allowing me to go back in time and reminisce.
Thank you for sharing such a happy post.
Sincerely,
Pia Y.