The first farmers market of the season was as glorious and informative as I’ve come to expect. The spring sunshine illuminated tree buds and baby plants, along with sections of skin that had been hidden for months, giving a vibrant glow to all it touched. I learned who died, who reproduced, who got an elk, and other important life events. And I had the opportunity to burnish my own response to the question, “How was your winter?”
There were plant starts galore, spring greens, well-kept storage crops from last fall, and the usual items—alcohol, waffles, cotton candy—that have nothing to do with plants or farms, yet still attract most of the business. After battling my way through a latte-fueled queue of waffle buyers, I asked Mr. Lemeza if he had any beets left. He waved away the question. “Only for borscht,” he said dismissively of the dregs of last year’s crop, which he'd left at home.
