(Rain chases away all but the hardiest shoppers.)The corn planting on our farm is about halfway done; my husband Dan took off without breakfast this morning (after milking the cows) to prep the fields. This past weekend he had scanned the burgeoning alfalfa stands and remarked something about how ‘they’ll be ready for first cut right after the seed is in the ground’, so there will be no break from the grind of spring tractor-work this year.
I’m here at home, folding up the farmer’s market linens that were draped over the dining room furniture to dry up from the rain on Saturday. Small dishes and knives we use to sample out cheese are in the dishwasher; toothpick dispensers have been refilled. All need to be re-packed for the next trip to Burlington.
(One of those dishes have broken due to poor packing-up, already.)
The first two weeks of the market season are history. How did it go? Sales began at about half of what they were last year. Whether that was due to the soggy weather, the sagging economy, unnatural fear of public congregation, or a combination of all three, who knows?
It’s more than likely sales are light because I keep forgetting products. The first week, I left the hot Italian sausages behind; on the second, sweet Italians, short ribs, and pork hocks didn’t make it on the truck. We ran out of blue cheese on opening day, then brought too much the following week. I’m crap at predicting how the market will roll this year. I must be getting old.
That first day, the rain came so fast and hard that water streamed down the sidewalks, pooled under our table, and wicked up the tablecloths before we could react. At one point the sky darkened like all the lights had gone out – I fully expected it to hail. We found that our Coleman coolers do not keep rainwater out. A few inches filled the interiors and froze packages of meat to each other and solidly to the bottom.
I suppose I should cut myself a break. I’m not the only one forgetting things. Many of the “day vendors” (vendors without guaranteed space in the park), and some of the “senior” vendors forgot tents - some were without warm coats - and all needed an extra box or bag for transporting wet clothing and tablecloths home.
I’d be lax if I failed to mention that there is one other force at work on the market: the Samosaman booth.
Because of its popularity, the line for fried triangle-shaped pastries can become long and stretch in front of other stands.
At the second market, Samosaman moved south to a spot on our right. And the remarkable thing was that the traffic flow on the St. Paul sidewalk shifted from traveling left-to-right, to going right-to-left.
(See the Samosa-stand between the tree and green tent? Foot traffic goes down the College Street sidewalk and turns left to get there.)
(After the move, traffic for samosas heads down the left sidewalk toward the center of the park and moves right!)
That’s real power! Their red and yellow tent is even more visible now that trees and other structures no longer obscure it from the central park entrance on College Street.
I wonder if the Samosaman ever forgets things?
(I think Dan will be eating more samosas.)