Almost two whole months in Oregon, almost two whole years of being married. Time flies!Despite moving to an area with inclement weather, Pete and I have found ourselves outside more, laughing more, walking the dog more, riding bikes more, and God Bless Eugene, they have a farmer's market every Saturday! Last weekend, in the rain, we went to the market and bought Happy Chicken Eggs (The label says: "Happy Chicken Eggs. From Free Ranging Girls."). I stood amidst the daffodils, honey, goat cheese, and endless piles of salad greens and cried. I felt at home. After almost two years in the high desert of Nevada, I felt rehydrated. There are flowers here and everything, attitudes included, is softer. The sign on the grass said, "Please allow the grass time to recuperate." Anyone who knows me knows I love reverence of life and the environment; we are absolutely surrounded by it here. We are also surrounded by 100% certified organic lunatics, which makes things like farmer's markets that much more fun.
Today, we went to the market again, only it was 70 degrees Fahrenheit and sunny. There was a Mexican guy singing mostly Beatles songs with an occasional Sublime hit thrown in. There was a bluegrass band and an old lady singing to the children (all of whom were supplied with various things to bang on for rhythm). Kids were grappling for the samples. Every baked good is filled with marionberries, and we bought a pie ($13.00). We spent WAY too much on line-caught, never-frozen, freshly-canned albacore tuna (2 cans). A tub of goat cheese, a bunch of dried chile peppers, a jar of jalepeno/marionberry jelly, a pound of locally produced italian sausage, and some cilantro and dried fruit rolls later, we found ourselves $90 poorer. There is no more satisfying way to spend money than to hand it over directly to those who made the goods.
The characters at the market are the best part. I watched a hippie with dreads roll in on his single speed bike with his dog in tow, and as he reached the center square, he whispered quietly to his dog, "This is the place, man." The dog was 100 years old, stiff in the joints and long in the tooth, and he for all the world looked like he understood exactly the point. They pushed off, bike and dog both creaking and a little on the slow side. There was a requisite "Let us pray for your soul" booth, as well as about 4000 "Support Obama" booths. There was an old sun-weathered woman with a backpack busting at the seams with tulips. There was a tan man with a mustache and coke-bottle glasses wearing a huge red balloon hat, creating balloon creatures and apparel for a gaggle of swawking children.
You Portsmouth folk: imagine Market Square Day times 10 and recurrent every Saturday at 10 am. That much chaos. People just walking around with big smiles carrying bouquets of flowers and baskets filled with fresh seasonal produce.
Tonight we are off to the Very Little Theatre to see a Tom Stoppard play called "On the Razzle." Does it get any better?
Love to everyone,
Liz
Today, we went to the market again, only it was 70 degrees Fahrenheit and sunny. There was a Mexican guy singing mostly Beatles songs with an occasional Sublime hit thrown in. There was a bluegrass band and an old lady singing to the children (all of whom were supplied with various things to bang on for rhythm). Kids were grappling for the samples. Every baked good is filled with marionberries, and we bought a pie ($13.00). We spent WAY too much on line-caught, never-frozen, freshly-canned albacore tuna (2 cans). A tub of goat cheese, a bunch of dried chile peppers, a jar of jalepeno/marionberry jelly, a pound of locally produced italian sausage, and some cilantro and dried fruit rolls later, we found ourselves $90 poorer. There is no more satisfying way to spend money than to hand it over directly to those who made the goods.
The characters at the market are the best part. I watched a hippie with dreads roll in on his single speed bike with his dog in tow, and as he reached the center square, he whispered quietly to his dog, "This is the place, man." The dog was 100 years old, stiff in the joints and long in the tooth, and he for all the world looked like he understood exactly the point. They pushed off, bike and dog both creaking and a little on the slow side. There was a requisite "Let us pray for your soul" booth, as well as about 4000 "Support Obama" booths. There was an old sun-weathered woman with a backpack busting at the seams with tulips. There was a tan man with a mustache and coke-bottle glasses wearing a huge red balloon hat, creating balloon creatures and apparel for a gaggle of swawking children.
You Portsmouth folk: imagine Market Square Day times 10 and recurrent every Saturday at 10 am. That much chaos. People just walking around with big smiles carrying bouquets of flowers and baskets filled with fresh seasonal produce.
Tonight we are off to the Very Little Theatre to see a Tom Stoppard play called "On the Razzle." Does it get any better?
Love to everyone,
Liz
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