Members of the message board crafted poems and stories about a Farmer's Market.














"Farmer's Market"


By susi Taylor(Texaswishr@aol.com)


tomorrow I will be going down to our Farmer's Market. I want to get a stalk of brussel sprouts, some fresh asparagus, some hot turkey breakfast sausage to cook in with a bunch of Kale and white beans, some fresh raspberry croissants and see if there is anyone selling Osage Oranges yet. They are not really oranges, but rather an inedible fruit of the Bois d'arc tree. I buy half a dozen every year and put one under my computer desk, my recliner, my bed, in the bathroom, the couch, and the kitchen table. They actually repel spiders and I never see a spider all winter. Works for me. So if you want to repel the spiders, and i'm sure any other bug, just find some Osage Oranges, or some Bois d'arcs and see what happens. I know that down in Southwest Missouri the trees just grow everywhere. But, you really should visit your local Farmer's Market. Ours here in Flint, Michigan, it's an experience every week.










Farmer's Market"


By Sharon (ByGolly25@aol.com)


Oh the farmers market. Happens every Tuesday from 7 a.m. to 2 p.m. The main street is closed off to cars. Only foot traffic allowed. I wonder if there will be raspberries today. Sometimes there are, sometimes not. But the best part, is the Dudley's bread stand. It is hard to choose. Jalapeno cheese bread? Date nut bread? Or will it be the sweet cinnimon raison bread with frosting. Samples. Samples always help me to choose. Darn! They all taste good. I think I will get a loaf of each and put some in the freezer. Kind of dangerous doing that. I eat way too much bread. Oh yes, I see the berry stand. I will get some raspberries too. Guess while I'm here, I best get some healthy vegetables. This is going to be an expensive visit to Farmers Market today.










Farmer's Market"


By Tom (tomWYO@aol.com)


Rear of old pickup truck, the trailer
painted enamel green
Big new Dodge pickup
King Cab, Hemi too


Tall raw boned woman
brunette down deep
two small children
another on the way


Four sawhorses, covered in particle board
gingham table cloths covering the boards
home made sign, two of them
tomatoes, cukes and cantaloupes


Small sunshade boxes and baskets
all about, great big red tomatoes
all polished up
Woman under large parasol
baby being fed


Sweet cantaloupes
one cut, slices in the ice chest
“Raised it all in my garden,
live just south of Pine Bluffs,”


“Look at how full those green beans are,
those taters large and smooth,”
she informs any and all who stop
hoping she can sell out
then head back home.


Just one small vendor
on the side of the road
old plastic bags for
taking your purchases home.










By Cottage Lady (Patience@bresnan.net)


Farmer's Market



Artists place their easels, paints and brushes,
preparing to provide a portrait of the
Saturday Farmer’s Market.


Some set out palettes of oils or watercolors,
charcoal, colored pencils, pen and ink,
whatever their special medium may be.


One sets up to paint the old Depot tower,
another makes strokes on a picture of
costumed actors from the recent melodrama.


An artist is working on a drawing of
Jalapeno chilies tossed and roasting
in a spinning barbeque grill basket.


Here’s another one painting Colorado peaches,
looking fuzzy orange, juicy and succulent,
just looking at them makes the mouth water.


Here is one sketching crisp green beans,
bags of lettuce, red potatoes, fresh tomatoes,
all coming to life under the artist’s brush.


Another works on Great Harvest Breads,
whole grain, rye and cinnamon chip,
samples available for the taking.


An artist sets up his easel to paint
the musician strumming his guitar
as local admirers come and go.


Saturday Special, the Farmer’s Market.









By Mercedes (mercedes1947@gmail.com)


Farmer's Market



Sing to the tune of Frere Jacques


Farmers Market, Farmers Market
Saturdays, Saturdays
You can buy cut flowers
Big bouquets of flowers
Really cheap, cheap, cheap, cheap


Farmers Market, Farmers Market
Summertime, summertime
We can buy some brownies
Giant chocolate brownies
Stand in line, worth the time


Farmers Market, Farmers Market
Such a treat, we can meet
Earlier the better
Dressing for the weather
Layered clothes, one never knows


Farmers Market, Farmers Market
Apricots, forget-me-nots
Cantulope and lemons
Yellow peaches firm and
Strawberries, breathe in deep


Smells of summer, fresh and pungent
Fruit arrayed, there displayed
Afternoon uplifting
Thank God for his gifting
From the earth, His good earth


Farmers Market, Farmers Market
Shop outdoors, in the sun
Always such a pleasure
Coming home with treasures
From the earth, His good earth.









Farmer's Market

By Phyllis Ann (Starbird55@concast.net)



I took, Lana, my Labradoodle, to the Farmer's Market with me.
She was enthralled as it was very plain to see.


Everyone stopped to pet her, and talked about her manners and poise.
She didn't even bark, didn't make any noise.


I was looking at some lovely pumpkins and thought I saw her snatch something out of the corner of my eye,
But by the time I turned around to look at her, she was laying down like a real sweetie pie.


I had her on her leash, and she was attached to my waist.
There wasn't anywhere she was going, and I didn't think of anything she would get a taste.


Too close to the cherry tomatoes, I guess was my fault.
I heard some giggling from some school children who had been carefully taught.


They didn't snitch on her, but I knew something was going on behind my back.
She had been eating cherry tomatoes, probably half a sack.


I apologized to the vendor and offered to pay for her snack.
He just laughed and said, "no charge", as he had a dog named "Big Mac".










Farmer's Market


By Norma (Twi1ite@sbcglobal@.net)


We have a massive market downtown, and there are mini markets all over - even an organic market a few blocks from me that I can’t afford, and the products aren’t all local. Since I am one, it has been years since I’ve had a day at the Farmers Market with its straw-hatted and plaid-shirted farmers. Shuffling through the smells of onions, mingled with melons, Georgia rattlesnakes, vine-ripened tomatoes. Watching a corn farmer peel back the shucks to show a neighborhood co-op group, city folks plucking the brains of the farmers, asking questions about a different life. There are some restaurants around, some fiddling music, and tanned and freckled smiles. Saturday afternoon at the market, excited children, bringing home more than can be eaten, sharing with the neighbors. And on that note,

Sharing With the Neighbors



There is a man who, now languishing lonely in a group home, his once keen and giving mind too diminished to live alone, retired years ago. He and his wife lived to give. He’d had a good job, could not sit still, had served all his life. One day he and his wife drove down to the Farmers Market. We’ll call him Roger. Roger liked to talk. Roger had managed a fine men’s clothing store and was fond of telling of people who would not buy a suit unless he sold it to them. And he would show how he measured, fit, and as long as you listened, he would smilingly talk to you. So it came naturally that Roger would talk to one farmer, then another, and came upon the idea of talking to the head farmer who rented the spaces. The head farmer told him he was free to ask for the left over produce that any vendor would give him. Ever Monday morning, Roger went to the marked and brought home his van loaded with the culls and leftovers the farmers would give him. He and his wife would spend that day in the garage cleaning up the vegetables and putting them in sacks and boxes. Next day Roger would call his nearby neighbors to “come get you some fresh peaches - all you want,” or plums, or tomatoes, or apples, or any kind you could name. They were washed, trimmed and perfect. Then he and his wife would take bags fulls to shut-ins, a Mother’s Day Out, a food pantry. And his wife sometimes would make cobblers, breads and fill jars. Roger took his wife early each morning to walking group at a nearby mall. The mall managers would send her home with pots of flowers and plants when they changed out their interior decorating which would also be delivered to sick, shut-ins, and neighbors. And all this was just a smidgen of what they did for their neighbors. His little wife died a few years back, and the new management at the Farmers Market wouldn’t let him “do his thing” any more, so then he drove a truck collecting day old bread for the food pantry. He would sneak out some biscuits, cookies, or a few goodies, and hang them on a neighbor’s fence or front door knob. He would not let anyone see him. He was called the “Biscuit Fairy.” He was never caught without a smile or a kind word, and he wouldn’t listen to any unkind words. His face would just go blank. Most of the time if you wanted to see him, he would be in his yard with a handkerchief on the back of his neck “like mama taught us to do to protect us from the sun.”


Now his little home sits empty, and there is no one well enough to talk with him or listen to him as he paces his days in this so-called “group” home with 3 residents, a big flat screen and beautiful cold accoutrements. When you visit him, he’s likely to say cheerfully “Hello, neighbor, it’s a wonder you didn’t catch me doing something - I’m busy all the time.”









Farmer's Market


By Marilyn (LaraOct7@aol.com)


Early on weekend mornings, just before dawn,
Farm trucks pull up and back into vegetable stalls.
Unloading fresh vegetables is pretty much routine,
Hauling the baskets out, displaying the fruits like a team.


Rough, weathered hands and full ruddy cheeks,
Gingham aprons, fresh laundered jeans every week.
You can't miss the healthy glow and sunbeam smiles,
of men and women who farm the fields and work the plows.


Aromas surround the bins that hold the fruits:
plums, apricots, grapes, hardened apple juice.
A farm wife stands with a swatter, killing flies,
While her husband bags up fresh peaches and homemade Whoopie Pies.


Today's most popular stand is one selling homemade jellies and jams.
The short, round farmwife is noted for the foodstuff she cans,
fig preserves and marmalade jelly being her specialities.
How wise she is to offer samples.


Late afternoon and the stalls are near empty,
most of the produce having been sold and the left-overs looking limpy.
Household shoppers have come and gone, and the day is nearly done.
The trucks have been reloaded and satisfied farmers have set out for home.







 











The Old Clothespin Bag

The Day Began with a Blizzard (several writers)

Her Garland Grows

The Vessel

Summer Shower

Write to a Picture 90 (several writers)

Six Words in a Poem (several writers)






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