09 Oct 2012 Teeming.
Here’s what I love about the farmer’s market: it’s *alive*. Hugely and vibrantly *alive*.
The Union Square farmer’s market is one of my favorite things in New York, and I often pass through on my way home from Saturday morning practice. At this time of year especially, the colors positively glow: red and purple and deep green and gold, every possible shade and hue and depth. Gorgeous piles of richly-colored produce, next to baked goods and fresh eggs and honeycomb. And the smells – apples, onions, root vegetables, bread. Earth. Life.
By the time I’m moving through, it’s packed. Tall people, short people, wheelchairs and strollers; young and old, rich and poor, carrying bags and backpacks and walking their dogs; crowding into booths, stopping mid-path, turning, laughing, shouting, chortling; chaos; the place is teeming with humanity in all its awful glory. Life.
At this point, too, I’m usually achy and tired. Saturdays are our long-run days and, depending on the distance covered, I am often headed home for an ice bath. I could avoid the crowds and get off at a subway stop slightly closer to home, but I love that walk. I love the farmer’s market.
At the moment of the week when I’ve pushed my body and spirit past all bounds, when I’ve affirmed the strength and life in myself and worn it through and out of me, it lifts me up to limp through those wonderful, awful throngs of people and let those vibrant colors and smells and sounds wash over me. Energy. Life.
With all the craziness that has been the last couple of weeks, of fathers and funerals and hospitals – I can use all the teeming life I can get.
I love the farmer’s market.