The Colton Farmers’ Market
July 7, 2009
Sunday afternoon was one of those idyllic times that makes you want to live in a small town. OK, I ALWAYS want to live in a small town, but that’s beside the point. The fact is Sunday was a lot of fun. It was the first installment of the Colton Farmers’ Market.
The market idea was cooked up by a local woman who I think had made a habit of attending such things in other communities. “Why not do it here?” she said. Now she’s overworked and underpaid, but it sure was a lot of fun.
There were a dozen or so vendors selling everything from beets to soap to oil paintings to outhouses. Everyone was having fun. Kent was selling hamburgers, Dennis was playing old Johnny Cash tunes and everyone was enjoying the festival atmosphere.
There were loads of people there who could all call each other by their first names – even if they hadn’t seen each other for a while. One vendor, a guy in his late 30’s, met up with a woman he hadn’t seen since he was in elementary school. They sat and talked like they were old friends.
I wandered through the booths sniffing hand-made soaps and beeswax candles and sampling fresh produce. I learned that some people I only sort-of knew had talents and interests that I would never have guessed.
It was the sort of afternoon that makes me a small-town boy. It was the sort of day that makes you enjoy people and makes you think the sky is just a bit bluer than on ordinary days. One day I should probably write a country song about it.
That’s the allure of small-town living – knowing everybody’s name, meeting folks who know how to make do with whatever they have, living a little simpler and a little slower-paced. Besides, who wouldn’t want to live in a town where you can buy a hand-built, cedar-sided outhouse?
