Essay on a
Farm Market experience 8/18/12
Reading Joan
M. Erikson’s Wisdom and the Senses, The Way of Creativity, awakened me
to awareness of the sensual experience I was having as I plunged into the sea
of sounds, fragrances, colors, tastes and feelings that engulfed me at the
Saturday morning Farmers’ Market. It was
my first experience at this local venue and I was surprised by my level of
excitement and joy at being in the heart of a scene of fresh, ripe abundance.
Erikson
relates the work of Rita de Lisi in Cambridge, MA, in the 1960s. She conducted preschool creativity classes
that always began with a fully participatory sensory experience like visiting a
local garden and freely exploring and investigating it. Then upon return to her storefront studio the
children were free to create whatever they wanted and the results were vivid
and varied, imaginative and amazing in their creativity. I felt that way today. I left the scene with my creative heart
pounding at the visions of possible paintings, or the thoughts of how to
describe the experience in prose or poetry.
It is an exhilarating experience to feel so pregnant with
potential.
The first
impression I had was sheer thrill at the bounty spread out along High
Street. I had no idea the stalls would
extend along several blocks, nor that the parking would be a challenge. I found a spot several blocks away on a side
street where an enterprising family had set up their young daughter’s lemonade
stand. At 50 cents for about four ounces
it wasn’t a bargain, but I felt obliged to buy since I had parked in front of
their house. I am sure she made out
well, even though it was not a hot day.
As I
approached the first cluster of tent roofs I could smell the peaches, my main
purpose for going, and then I heard someone say, “The line is already a block
long!” And indeed it was, maybe longer,
winding behind an automotive store’s parking lot. As I was headed toward the end of it, wondering
if this farm’s peaches were any better than the ones at a closer stand with no
line, I heard my name called out, “Kathie!”
I looked over and spotted Virginia, who must have come plenty early to
be at the front of the line. Sheepishly
I asked her to buy me a box of peaches, too, hoping not to offend any in line
who might consider me a “cheater” for cutting in. Apparently it is a good-natured crowd as I
heard no objection to our exchange of money and my walking with her to the
front to pick up my heavy, luscious-smelling prize. We each bought the large box, $15, half a
peck maybe, I didn’t notice. We both
quickly figured out that they would be heavy to lug along for the rest of the
shopping experience. Virginia parked
hers with a vegetable vendor across the street so she could move unencumbered
through the packed stalls. I carried
mine, and they were manageable, but cumbersome.
My eyes were
popping to see bright piles of tomatoes, rich purple eggplants, a bucket
bursting with bright gold sunflowers and pails of brilliant-hued zinnias. I could not resist a big bunch of cockscomb
celosia, knowing it would dry and provide a punch of bright burgundy in a
winter bouquet.
There were
samples galore. I resisted until the
scent of basil, so wildly pervasive, drew me in to sample a pesto on small
pieces of baguette. The intense green
color, the smooth garlic-oil-cheese taste and the just-right texture of the
rough bread was a morsel of delight. The
pesto was not for sale, only the basil.
I made pesto last year and it was a time-consuming process. I still have some frozen away, so maybe I
won’t be making my own pesto this year.
We’ll see. I have two productive
basil plants in my garden.
Among the
voices and faces I passed I recognized a former student who had
moved to Columbus from Florida and was in my winter class last year. She rode her bike almost every day, and
continued her Florida-habit of wearing flip-flops throughout the winter. I admired her hardiness. She stopped to chat briefly and was pleased
to let me know she had passed the qualifying test to move into advanced Spanish
classes. She was one of the most
proficient students I have ever taught.
Seeing her today added a layer of pleasure to the already happy
experience.
“Please do
touch the produce,” or at least no admonishment not to. The peaches gently give to the touch, a sure
sign they have ripened on the tree unlike the rock-hard object sold at the
grocery chains. I anticipate the rich,
full flavor that really says “PEACH!”
Of course, in
the midst of sensory overload I am like a child in a toy store. I want to grab, to touch, to taste everything
in sight. My adult response would be to
photograph the beauty of it all and have it to keep that way, but I had not
brought a camera. In retrospect, I could
have used my phone, but it is a relatively new acquisition and I forget that it
has a camera built in. Those sunflowers
would have made a gorgeous photo.
Whether or
not I set up a still life of the beets, yellow patty-pan squash, zucchini,
onions and peaches I bought to make a sketch or painting, the design of the
rest of the day will tell. I have other
projects that await my attention. Whatever else I do, the sensual pleasure of
this short outing was a refreshing splash of creative energy. At least I have
set down in words some impressions of the morning’s experience. I have no doubt I will treat myself to this
pleasure again, and arrive much earlier next time.
