The outdoor season extension

 I had such a satisfying day yesterday selling with the farmers, that I had one of those perfect moments last night when I was overwhelmingly grateful for the way all of my interests and community connections unite. I recognized a fleeting but complete happy moment that has been rare for me in the last while.

I put down the book I am loving currently, Whistler by Ann Patchett, and turned off the light, but my tired mind did not slow down. I had the insight that one of the reasons I love her writing is how it seems effortless for her to put us inside her characters, particularly the narrating one, with tiny gestures and observations, skillfully leaving out all of the explanations that people less skilled like me keep inserting, that insult our readers with too much exposition that they want to be trusted to do themselves. I don't write fiction currently but when I did, the people in my writing groups crossed out paragraph after paragraph making that point. If the reader doesn't get your intention, trust that they will figure it out, or try not to care if they don't. Just make your character compelling and if they are enigmatic, so much the better in most cases. Let the story unfold. Make your scenes vivid. One of the fun parts of writing is that the story unfolds for the writer as well, and can go deeper than the writer even has the awareness to put intentionally in. I do love that about writing, and it got me up to write in my journal, although I passed on the opportunity to write a late-night post for you all. Nonfiction is sometimes best without the giddiness and and more of the salt of the morning realities. And coffee.

The second-most pleasure was the John Mullaney SNL, where he did not disappoint in making the eclectic complicated musical segment happen where he references more than even most New Yorkers can probably track, in parody versions of current Broadway and other NYC tunes and news stories, kind of like a quick New Yorker magazine column with much more snark and humor than the usual segment. Those skits are memorable and genius and I can't wait to watch that one again after I read more to figure out some of the references I missed. He is so brilliant and deft that I imagine being in the room when they pitch out their ideas for how to put the show together, and it goes off into this hilarity and wonder at how that actually works. It's extraordinary and although this will not sound like my usual humble self, it is exactly how we put together the Jell-O Art Show performance script. We brainstorm all the funny or poignant connections we can come up with in the current zeitgeist and a few months later we have a show. We sure could not do it in a week.

We can't sing quite as well as the actors on SNL, who were astoundingly talented (and you thought they were just good at delivering jokes) and having the Jell-O framework often disappoints me in its limits, but the process is so enriching for us and we're in that now. I'll write about Jell-O more in my other blog Gelatinaceae but last night I was just happy I stopped dozing off in the recliner long enough to see that skit. 

The third thing was my experience standing on 8th yesterday watching the farmers market unfold and fold back up, and recommitting to my part in that extended community. Everything from the space I was in (vacated by Lee, with my thanks, and by the way, I had no idea sweetgrass was so aromatic in the garden, just wafting over the weeding and leafraking on a fall day, so thanks for that too) to the things I brought home. I probably spent more than I made. The combination of the early game and threat of rain kept the crowds a bit thin and later in the day, and honestly, the difference in crowds between last week and this week was noticeable. With the two southern blocks empty, things were quiet and there was a space that lacked the usual soul behind me. Fortunately the drumming started up later in the day, and there were two or three buskers to distract, but as I tried to be patient and be there for potential sales, I ran off repeatedly to get juice, greens, treats, fruit (the last of the Comice pears) some truly lovely cauliflower, spaghetti squash, and so much more. I wanted the fridge stuffed with the bounty of my friends, old and new over there and I would have bought more if I hadn't been worried about carrying it home on the already full trailer. I will get more next week, as I did miss a few things and still have a couple of inches in the kitchen that are not overflowing. Really glad about what happens when there are fewer booths and you find someone new who has amazing onions or single-person-sized squashes or you just get the chance to buy things without waiting in long lines.

The main thing happened as I was about halfway loaded up to leave, when my neighbor asked me about my day. I had watched him sit and have extended conversations throughout the day and heard little snippets to let me know he was interested in talking about the organizational history and other aspects of the community but I had really underestimated how much we had in common. I had been wanting to tell someone over there that I put together the archives, which I've tried to tell them numerous times but has to be information given to the right person, who actually cares about it. Their archives actually should belong to them, but at least if they know they exist and can be viewed, they matter. I might have told the right person this time.

We had a grand time going over the changes to their market and the people we remembered and what they did or didn't do. We talked about a few of the older farmers like Charles Duryea and Shari Reyna, how important they were, and how few people are left who actually know the history. He told me a few things I hadn't known and of course I knew a lot he didn't, as he only has 25 years in to my 51. I was there for so much of it, and paid a particular kind of attention because of my interests, that I have a unique ability and a responsibility to bring it forward. Which as you might know, I have been trying hard to keep doing in the face of a new community who doesn't really know it exists and maybe isn't that interested in knowing about it. 

But the community is where we connected with our most passion and that was totally unexpected. The timing of it, with the stuff going on in all three organizations that are trying to remain member-focused in a more corporate and expensive world, was what caught my soul up and sent us into the clouds of imagination for what could be. We want some things back that have dropped by the wayside and maybe this was a tiny first step into putting them back into practice and importance, in the community, for the community. 

The markets aren't just for the members, by a long shot. We make them for all of us who live here, visit here, or find us by accident. Building up the farmers was something we all did together, and now that it is more powerful and stable, our whole region is benefiting. We have food security, we have relationships, we have sustainability and the levels of production and marketing to survive this present time of insecurity and what is coming, with the climate and the political climate. Yes, everything is more expensive. People are gradually adjusting. The farmers depend on workers, so that is getting much much harder but if you want a job in farming or market retail, those are there for you. Nearly all of the farms would love dedicated reliable workers, and farm work is fun and rewarding, if not lucrative. These farmers are good solid people, the salt of the earth as used to be said. They are honest and since nature is not a fool, they have developed flexibility and the expectation that they can and will adapt to whatever comes. Directing the changes a little would be ideal, and for that, drawing on history, learning those lessons, and accessing the wisdom of the experienced people is key. When you can't depend on the weather predictions, you need that person who can read the clouds. 

The farmers have their own needs and they are not that different from ours as crafters, so our collaboration is not going to lose value. When we are not there, they are not as successful, and the same goes for us, if you remember when they moved to 5th street for the remodel and the last hour of any given market when they closed before we did. It's a synergy that can only get better if we can work together. Currently we are not. Closing for all of November starting next year is a blow that will hurt them, and we didn't even consider that in making that short-sighted decision by our Board. Instead of finding more ways to make November more profitable, it was thrown out. As I have said, this will involve three weeks in 2031, and two weeks next year and most years. I'll continue to sell with the farmers if I can, but bringing down the customers is a whole different set of issues that they will now have to work on without our collaboration. Expect some solutions. Their current marketing department is hot and they promoted me and the other crafters in their ads, while the public barely heard from our market about what our crafters would be doing this past week. Assuming everyone just transitions effortlessly to Holiday Market is untrue and misleading. Sluffing off the Park Blocks markets feels wrong and counter to building them up. If they're not important in November, are they important on a rainy day? Are they important once you have put in your required selling days to keep your reserve spot? To me they are vastly more important than Holiday Market, which is a different event that is less and less connected to the downtown ones.

Our culture used to be show up every week, like most of the farmers do. Sure, they sell perishable food, but you would be surprised how many weeks old some of those foods indeed are. Not everything is picked on Friday night, each week, though a lot of careful planning goes into crop succession and variety and how to sell things in a place full of similar things. You know what works for them? Community. The relationships build over time make us willing to pay high prices for the foods we value, and the farmers work super hard to deliver quality, expansion, and bring their passions to the marketplace for all that mutual benefit. Our job is to appreciate it with our purchases and our return for more. 

One of the things he and I went over was the attitude of managers who view issues as problems to be fixed or obversely, situations to to be nurtured into successful ones. They get the occasional seller who lies about the sources of their foods, who requires a farm visit to prove they grew that stuff. It's a lot easier to discuss if you start with the mutual trust and honesty of rules that can be followed. They used to require prepared foods to be 80% sourced at the farmers market, and now it is down to a more realistic 25%. That's still a high bar for someone to meet who has a lot of things to juggle to launch or sustain their products. Their ability to "handcraft" everything they sell has a lot of wrinkles we don't have to address at our market, but the way things are handled makes all the difference in how an individual farmer is nurtured or goes away mad. This is just a recurring situation for them, not something that can be prevented by some kind of strong authoritarian policy. People have to be welcomed and nurtured into the community before they can care enough to follow a difficult rule. Pretty much all the regulations work that way. 

Currently the way some of our standards issues are handled on our side of the street is not nurturing and not collaborative, and not open to rational discussion and good solution-making process. My situation is just one of them. Members are not there to limit other members from being successful by exacting favoritism, control and inequitable solutions. It hurts everyone involved in the process. Standards has to be there to notice the trends, help us all adapt to the current ones, and keep the market viable while we adjust. Using technicalities to limit someone successful should automatically bring the question "why are we doing this?" and again, that has not been answered for me. I remain at risk and communications did not improve with my attempts to participate in a professional process. I still lost the ability to sell a hat that says Oregon on it. There is no way that was a nurturing decision. It's not even logical or justifiable, so I will not move on from that. It was damaging. 

But yesterday was lovely. No one glared at me with derision or suspicion and no one felt the need to violate my boundaries or keep secrets from me. Again, I got to be my true self, and it made me so happy, and so productive. So grounded in the community. It's pretty tragic that after 51 years I have to go to Veneta or across the street to feel that way. Tragic for me, and of course 99% of what is going on any given Saturday is not about me, but these unfortunate decisions color what I do get to observe.

Yesterday it was fallen leaves swirling in eddies, one canopy making two men run like rabbits to grab it, and openings of every kind in my psyche and interior and exterior life. I had the strength of history at my back sitting quietly in the empty blocks, waiting for April, waiting for us to all come back, at least those of us who can. 

May it be many, and may we all feel that richness and openness and inspiration which is why we do this stuff over and over. I will be there next week to do it one more time until the outdoor markets are over for me too for the season. I am already missing them. There's no guarantee of another one, after all.