"When dawn spreads its paintbrush on the plain, spilling purple... ," Songs of the Pioneers song from TV show "Wagon Train." Dawn on the mythic Santa Fe Trail, New Mexico, looking toward Raton from Cimarron. -- Clarkphoto. A curmudgeon's old-fashioned newspaper column, cross-breeding metaphors and journalism and art, for readers in 150 countries.
Saturday, July 25, 2009
Farmers' Market in Edmond, Saturday morning! Packed with people of all sorts. chatting, shopping. Looking. Soaking up the sights and sounds and smells. Beautiful Kodachrome colors, and the smells of summer. Ummm good. My Dad used to say, "Larrupin' good."
Wouldn't it be great to live where you could go to the market every day and buy fresh produce and meat and bread, and instead of stocking up with canned and frozen goods, drenched in preservative sodium, go home and prepare dinner. That's the way much of the world does it. A small refrigerator for milk, fresh eggs, and perishables. The people I've seen who live in such places aren't fat...they walk to and from the market. The only fat people I saw in Europe were Americans.
We'd be so much healthier and slimmer. Nothing like the smell of a fresh cantaloupe, some new potatoes and yellow neck squash swimming in butter or olive oil, fresh peaches oozing flavor, tangy sweet vidalia onions, crisp bell peppers, tomatoes so big and red a slice or two makes a steak by themselves with a little pepper and salt, okra, juicy sweet corn, green beans...big glass of iced tea.
I know, my vegetarian friends are saying "I told you so," but if we had a fresh fish market like Pike's in Seattle, I'd be stopping there for a salmon filet to slap on the grill too.
That's brewing in my coffee pot.