Farmer’s market memories always fill up my mind
When the calendar turns the page over to fall time.
All the neighbors envied my mom, she had the biggest garden in the land
In summer we thought it misery but about this time, we thought it grand.
Saturday morning, before the sun would rise we’d have to get out of bed
God said good morning to us early risers and painted the sky a deep red.
We’d milk the cows and feed the lambs much earlier than regular.
We’d pick some corn and beans and knew we’d have a big profit for sure.
We’d take the seats from the old station wagon and from floor to roof fill the back.
Us kids would duck down as we’d head into town, we knew the cops could cause us flack.
My big sisters would get the table set up and one would get the cash box ready.
My brother and I we’d unload the goods and organize them so they’d look tasty.
And now it was time for the shoppers to come, usually old women and naturalists,
People who longed for organic things and retired folks with empty “to do” lists.
The old ones were my favorite they always stopped for a while,
They’d say nice things and give us treats in exchange for a smile.
At the end of the day we were ready to get out of town and head to our country home.
We had a good feeling because we’d been paid for the things our garden had grown.
The best part of the memories made at the old farmers market won’t soon be forgotten.
It wasn’t just the money or the cleaning of the garden it was friends and memories we’d gotten.