Romance of harvest colors

Mary Ellen drove into my driveway at 10:15 a.m. yesterday morning for our visit to the Romeo Farmer’s Market. After these thirty-some years living in the area, I’d never stopped by the large tent on Old Van Dyke to shop. The second summer without my little vegetable garden, I was eager to see what the farmers sold.

“I’ll drive,” Mary Ellen said.

“Let’s stop by Town Hall Antiques afterwards. I need more hankies,” I replied.

Mary Ellen smiled at my request. “Sure.”

“I don’t know what happens to my hankies. I’ve even misplaced most of Mel’s that I’ve inherited.”

FYI, I prefer men’s hankies because they’re more conspicuous in my purse and pockets.

Mary Ellen turned into the parking lot under a beautiful, cloudless sky. Perfect conditions to meander amongst local folk and food—ponder what I’d like to put in my basket. After fifty-four years of shopping and preparing meals for a growing and shrinking family, I’m now down to me.

And it’s awkward. For food triggers memories. Pleasant and unpleasant.

The only one to cook for and please is me. And I loved to cook and bake to delight my family. My tuna-noodle casserole with a thick crust of crushed Better Made potato chips remains my younger daughters’ favorite. With a tossed salad of course. And always an oatmeal or chocolate chip cookie for dessert.

I strolled by purple, orange, and white cauliflower. Gigantic cantaloupe, honeydew, watermelon. Backbreakers for the strongest farmer. They surely suffer from hernias.

Mary Ellen, more efficient than I, had her cart filled in moments. So, I hastened to gather my produce, denied myself the bagged caramel corn, and gave one last glance to the bounty under the tent. What a rich palette of colors! Various shades of green, purple, orange, pink, yellow.

Oh! The mounds of corn! My mother would’ve loved this market.

Later, the ladies of Romeo’s Town Hall Antiques provided just what I requested. After sorting through every hanky in two small baskets, I purchased ample supply of vintage laced and embroidered handkerchiefs for my runny nose and teary eyes.

Meanwhile, Mary Ellen browsed, disciplined to the bone not to take anything home she didn’t need. Trust me, I offered to buy a darling little treasure she admired, but her better judgment ruled.

To conclude our adventures, we ordered the Traverse City Salad in Lakeville’s Celtic Knot, the blue lake and August sky calm and clear. The color much like the lovely, pedestal vase I inherited from my mother. I keep the pottery on my kitchen counter—the first thing to catch my eye when I enter the house, now filled with lemons and limes.

Dear Reader, not lemons and limes from the Romeo Farmer’s Market. No, more specifically, fruit from my daughter’s and son-in-law’s lemon and lime trees in their backyard near California’s Bay, carried in her suitcase when she visited last month.

From West to East coast, harvest colors lure me to mounds of fruits and vegetables, romance my eye, and nourish me.

Contact Iris at irisfarmletters@gmail.com