Yesterday I had my first farmer’s market of the season. I woke up at 4:30 AM, accompanied by the usual feelings that I have the first day: Early morning ug! Will anyone even show up? I’m a market rock star! How did I get myself into this? Things will be fine, they love you. And other assorted doubt and pride intermingled.
I brewed a cup of tea and read a bit, settling my varied thoughts. When the time was ready, I grabbed my jacket and left for the farm.
At 6:50 AM I was at the market, breathing the fresh clean air, setting up my tent and preparing for the onslaught of customers. Everything was ready and set up by about 7:50, which was good because the market started at 8:00. Somehow, between the end of the last season and the beginning of this one, I forgot how to arrange the booth.
The market started slowly, I watched the bank clock across the street to view time rolling past. Suddenly, without much warning, at 10:00 people showed up, and a constant stream of them swarmed the booth (a good thing). Before I knew it, it was 1:00 and the market was over. Three hours of market time flashed before my eyes, barely giving them a chance to adjust.
Over all I couldn’t have asked for a better day, the sky was a deep blue with a scattering of white fluffy clouds, the sun shown in all it’s brilliance, and the market was just as I had left it: Pleasant.