Last Outdoor Market!

Aargh, it's supposed to rain Saturday, and this will be the last week that I will care, for a few months. Selling outside on the Park Blocks in November is always a challenge, and we have had a couple of difficult weeks. Last Saturday, however, was so satisfying.

Apparently a lot of people thought it was the last Market (Thanksgiving is unusually late this year) and turned out last week for a rocking day. Sales were great, approaching summer levels. There were tourists from California and France. The members who did sell mostly clustered up near each other and it was ever so friendly. We could see and hear the stage from the west block, so we danced.

One of the good parts of small Markets is that we get to see new artists or take the time to look at familiar ones, and invariably there are new, exciting crafts to discover. When food booths are missing we sometimes step out of our habits and order new foods we haven't tried before. The 3-D paintings were extremely impressive, and there was no line at the pad-thai-pork-stick booth. 

At the Board meeting last week we began with stating our appreciations, and among the gratitudes for staff and organization was this: we get to be outside all day long. This is something I take for granted, because I spend a lot of time outside, but having that one 12-hour day every week when I can stand among trees and look at the clouds is very pleasing to me. I've learned weather watching mostly from that.

The normal weather pattern here is west to east, with most of our storms coming out of the south. Those warm south winds usually bring the wettest days, but when the wind switches to the northerlies
 we get cold. The balmy intervals usually mean rain on the way, and just because the sun comes out, doesn't mean it will get warm when you stand on concrete for all those hours.

But that cup of tea is so much extra comfort, that bowl of soup, or the hand-warmer crepe. Even holding a plate of noodles is gratifying, and with the smaller crowds I sometimes even get to eat my hot food while it is still warm. The pressure comes down and we all relax a little.

Every neighborhood at the Market has a little society all its own, and ours is quite familial. Raven starts that little song right at 10:00 and the juju is shared, the hopes for prosperity and fun. The cone of power is raised and we all holler. We compare notes throughout the day, completing our loose rituals and repeating our sometimes tired standing jokes. Our competitions rarely get serious, as we all support each other and sincerely wish the best for every one. We can afford the luxury of keeping our hearts open to the day and to the opportunities that the public brings along with their browsing or intentional immersion. We are safe, we are encouraged to grow and change, and we are loved. Nothing could feel better on a cold wet day than a sense of greater purpose.

Yes, friends and neighbors, here is where I preach my old refrain about how the Market made me and what a precious, irreplaceable and ephemeral whisp of spontaneity it is. It only happens when you attend, only cooks when you stir the pot.

I've been a member since before we kept track, my first Market in 1975 when I was new to town. I've never missed a Holiday Market and though my commitment occasionally lightened when I was single-parenting and building the house, I have always kept Market close. I've had most of the selling experiences a person can have. I've written many words on the subject of my joy. It's always, in some way, just what I want it to be, exactly what I need.

But the ephemeral can never be taken for granted. The last few years have been some of our most challenging and though we are not in crisis, most of our challenges are ongoing and we haven't solved them yet. A lot of the questions we have to answer are not posed by us, but by the conditions under which we operate. We sell in public, so the public is mostly in charge, but it is our job to contain the surge of energy and turn it to our benefit. We work hard at that.

I have to get out in the shop today, with Holiday Market starting next week (!!) and there are many things on my list, but it was a priority to say this: If you can, by any means possible, come down to the Park Blocks this Saturday.

I know it's hard, and sometimes feels foolish to take the chance of coming out when there's no guarantee of comfort or success. I know those property taxes took most of your spending cash. I know the Farmers' Market will be closing at 1:00 and will be tiny anyway, but they might have cranberries and there are all of those lovely breads and squashes, and you can never have enough apples in the house. Have you seen all the new flours and grains? Emmer?

It's hard, but it's so worth doing. Saturday Market uses every dollar for the common good, to present the world-class event and make it look easy, to serve the members with what we need and more, to provide comfort and ease for the customers who come from all over that world. Our staff works so damn hard for us, and whether or not anyone else comes, they will be there hauling trash and putting up shelters and now we even have patio heaters! Beth will call out as many names as she can, and everyone can have an 8x8.

We need lots of customers, even if they individually don't spend money, to fill up the place and make it look interesting. Customers are part of the entertainment! You may not know how many of us are writers jotting down overheard dialogue or character sketches. You may not know that we are constantly inspired and gratified by ordinary heroes and friendly folks who come down and love us, or learn to. We think subtle things, like how to not see every new person as a customer, but to be open to what is being brought to the marketplace by each of us, including the person holding the cash. It's a lot more than a money exchange down at 8th and Oak.

But more than customers, we need our members to sustain us. We need you to put in your twelve hours or whatever it takes you to bring your goods down and spread them out. It's not just your ten percent that we need. Every week we get people new to us, both members and customers, and we want them to fall in love fast. We want each person to be able to see and touch what we hold so dear in our lives.

It's most likely going to rain on me, and not just on the way home like two weeks ago. My tote bags are going to get damp and something will fall to the pavement and need to be washed. That canopy will get wet again and be a problem to dry, since I won't be using it until April. My foot will hurt and my hands will ache.

But the moments of the last day outdoors feel golden, glowing with emotion as we wrap up another season. I am constantly amazed by what we are creating downtown, by our longevity and sustainability and the toughness of our commitment to each other. I plan on spending as much money as I can on Saturday, buying those apples and cups of soup and silver rings and new socks. Yes, I could wait for Holiday Market, but if I do my purchasing this week, Market gets the ten percent, and maybe we get a little healthier with a little bigger rainy day fund in case our weather magic wanes.

Last week as I passed through the corner where we all meet, there was a young man playing classical music under the tree, one who has aged with us right through his cute stage to be a very serious musician. Lotte Streisinger, one of our founders, happened to be navigating her walker in the opposite direction (she comes every week, and on Tuesdays too!) We shared a huge grin at the perfection of the moment.

Saturday Market is as perfect as our earthly endeavors can get, due to the conscientious work of thousands of members and those who serve and love us. Come and be a part of it. It's your last chance until April, and that is a very long time from now.