One of the most enjoyable and rewarding aspects of writing this column is researching a subject I thought I knew fairly well, only to discover I didn’t know beans.
No, this article is not about beans. Well, wait, maybe it is.
Let’s talk about farm markets. My take has always been that people from all walks of life—farmers, craftworkers, bakers, artists, jewelers, and so forth—gather usually on Saturday at a common place and sell their wares.
Some merchants may sell just one type of item, perhaps leather goods, while others offer a wide variety, from kettle corn to colorful kites.
That is what I thought I knew.
Digging a little deeper, if asked how long farmers markets have existed, I may have guessed a hundred years, maybe two. I would only be off by five thousand years or so!
Undoubtedly forgetting all about the markets along the Nile in the Fertile Crescent. For those unfamiliar with that term, it is a crescent-shaped area encompassing many Middle Eastern countries – Iran, Iraq, Jordan, Egypt, etc.
It is also the confluence of the Tigris and Euphrates rivers, which, due to moisture, sediment, and nutrients, helped to create phenomenal agricultural productivity along their banks. So, with that in mind, modern-day vendors can consider themselves a direct descendant of ancient merchants.
We may have a greater variety of goods now, but the concept and goals have remained the same throughout the centuries: people providing their best products or wares at a fair price and feeling good about their transactions in a friendly, unpretentious setting.
Obviously, come fall and winter, many local vendors have run their course and closed up shop, but there are still lots of seasonal markets to shop, and one of the most joyful is “Jingle bells, Jingle bells …”
Tall, short, flocked, Pine, Fir or Spruce?
I have intentionally omitted any names of shops or stalls that could give someone unfair advantage. Check the web for open markets in Creswell, Cottage Grove, Pleasant Hill, and Springfield. There are still quite a few, and they are such a pleasant and tasty way to spend a Saturday.
Dear Flag of Liberty
Often, on my travels, I play a simple little game: I count American flags. Of course, I would not do that if I were traveling any great distance, like to Minnesota, per se, but for short jaunts, it’s fun. Sadly, it stops being fun when I count almost as many torn, ragged, and hopelessly faded ones as pristine ones.
There’s just something unsightly and disrespectful about watching Old Glory waving in the breeze, her edges as fringed as grandma’s lace tablecloth. Take, for example, the one pictured here. I have seen much worse, which begs the question, why? Has it just become an indifferent decoration, or was it put up a long time ago to celebrate a holiday and forgotten?
Now that the windy, rainy weather is here, perhaps it’s time to repair, replace or remove her in a “dignified manner, preferably by burning.” So says the American Legion.
That in the breeze is flying,
Proud emblem of the Free
My heart and hand salute
Dear flag of Liberty
— Author unknown
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