Where do you locate the moment of delight when you notice that summer has arrived?
Smelling the first rose on my patio is delightful, sure, but it’s too early, more of a late Spring thing. The first announcement that Kitsilano Pool’s opening will be delayed is too much of a bummer, and the actual opening happens well after we all agree that summer has arrived. The peak event at the perfect time is the first farmer’s market at UBC Farm.
It’s the first Saturday in June, perfect timing, and the weather is also perfectly cooperative. It rained pretty hard earlier in the morning, and although it’s clearing up, there’s a brisk breeze and it’s almost warm, but not hot.
I know there are a bunch of you who regard 10 a.m. on a Saturday as late morning, and that’s absolutely fine with me as long as you keep your early activities to yourself and don’t have loud arguments with your kids about whether they are upset because they are hungry outside my open bedroom window. I am not one of those people. I am not getting to the market at 9:45 a.m. waiting for it to officially open. In addition to not being an early Saturday morning person, I am not a “let’s stand in line for an extra 20 minutes” person.
It’s better to avoid the opening rush. It’s possible to look up the vendors for any Saturday in advance. It’s also possible to peek at your wrapped presents before your birthday, if you don’t like surprises. I prefer to go to the market with a vague desire for an unusual radish and maybe some bread, rather than planning ahead and putting together a specific shopping list.
At the first market of the year, the farm staff make an effort to greet people at their table inside the gate, and I like that gentle recognition that means I get a “welcome back.” The crepe guys say they haven’t seen me for a while, which is also nice. The bread stand has a new person, but she says she likes my sweater, so we’re immediately friends.
The community vibe is reinforced by the kids who have their craft market in the middle of the field. A couple of them are delightedly telling each other they sold something to someone they didn’t even know. Nice one, random passers-by.
I bump into a couple of my friends who are market regulars, and we catch up. All around us, everyone is doing the same thing. People are also chatting to the vendors, asking them about their produce, taking their time. This is not the place to do a quick shop, it’s a place to soak up the vibe, and maybe get talked into buying a peculiar vegetable.
In the farm stand proper, the only radishes are regular red ones, but they are enormous. Radish of unusual size, score. I also grab some turnips because I have an ambition to make pink pickles. Nigella and Ottolenghi have given me ideas.
The guy behind me in the queue grabs a bunch of carrots and says to the person he’s with: “these are gonna be the best carrots you ever tasted”. Big claim, I think, but then I look around and see that his companion is a wee girl who looks about five. He’s probably safe. How many carrots has she eaten? Two?
My bag is pretty full at this point, and I didn’t bring a second one, so I head out. It’s a really short walk home, but I stop for a few minutes to sit on the bench in the community garden, as I always do. There are half a dozen butterflies flitting around, including a big yellow one I don’t think I have seen before. We decide that summer has arrived.
ROBYN STARKEY IS A WESBROOK PLACE RESIDENT AND A MEMBER OF THE CAMPUS RESIDENT NEWSPAPER EDITORIAL COMMITTEE.