I’ve been reading Edible Philly magazine. In the most recent issue, there was a feature on the Easton Farmers’ Market, with the author focusing on 3 vendors vying for spots. I found this intriguing since my impression of farmers’ markets has largely been that they weren’t all that selective. Like if you had a farm or soap shop or whatever, you could pay for a booth and sell your stuff. This one was a wee bit more cut throat. Some vendors are given a whirl at a Wednesday night market to see if they could cut it at the main Saturday one.
So I decided to go pay a visit on Saturday, to see this oldest continuous open air market around here. Easton turned out to be a wee bit farther away than I thought (like an hour and 15 minutes) but I still had a marvelous time. I bought a gorgeously large heirloom tomato, some peaches, a half pound of goat cheese, a half pound of shitake mushrooms, 6 ears of corn, an Amish oat cake, and a jam sampler. Of the three jams, I’ve only made it through the strawberry rhubarb at this point, but it was quite tasty.
After loading up my bags, I meandered over to a used book store nearby. The first floor cafe/brunch spot was packed, but very few folks were up in the dustier second floor. I wandered around, taking in the shelves and the sunlight filtering through the windows. I’m a big fan of ebooks, but there’s still something so magical about giant bookshelves and the randomness you find on them.
I kind of fantasized about spending all day there, and started daydreaming up the plot of a novel set in a farmers’ market and used book store, but I knew I needed to get back eventually. I drove home to find my 2-year-old had an accident on the sofa. Not the old sofa in front of the TV she spends 95 percent of her sitting time on. Instead, she’d had to go potty, and apparently my husband had been out in the yard, so she went over to the sofa in the library — the nice one — and went on that. Lovely. At least the morning was fun!