There’s not much in this life I enjoy more than strolling and sniffing out the week’s new treasures at an open-air market, careening from one deceivingly innocuous stall to another, only to find each brimming with seasonal jewels from the land and the sea. Market day, for me, is a colorful, remarkable and unabated pageant of optimism: displays of camaraderie, kinship, sharing, learning, connecting, giving—us earthlings at our best. One sweet bite of summer’s first peach, one sip of apples, pressed into cider before your eyes, or simply an insider’s tip to prepare that vegetable you’ve shied away from, you can’t help but feel all warm-and-fuzzy about your farmer, your community, your family, your life.
It’s the little things. It’s always been about the little things for me. Whether under a sky blue canopy, early Sunday morning, along the verdant foothills of Northern California, or a bustling Wednesday afternoon within an 18th century village in the south of France, the anticipation of Market Day, along with its farmers, ranchers, and artisans, becomes woven into the fabric of our daily lives.
Whatever day of the week it lands on, I love knowing—with no uncertainty, it’s always Market Day somewhere.
MUSIC PAIRING: J.S. Bach, Cello Suite No. 1 Prelude
