Dear Friends,
Suddenly Sunday has disappeared, without too much fuss. I love keeping in touch with you all, even on uneventful days. Thank you.
Zing and I went to the farmers market under the freeway at 7th and W. More people are coming, now that it’s warmer. Someone was tasting the cherries and then she made a face. I asked her how they were, and she said “a little sour … “ At that I put my still-empty plastic bag down, and she did the same. Another woman saw us, and she asked how they were. “Picked before ripe,” the taster-woman said. We all grinned at each other and walked away to find sweeter cherries down the aisle.
Then I stopped to see Amy at Mad Dog Mesa olive oil. I owed her some money for shipping costs for the oil she’d mailed to Mary and Patrice. Earlier she'd charged me for the oil, but said I should pay shipping later, when she knew the exact price. She trusted that I’d show up with the check. Today she told me there are more than 200 varieties of olive tree. I can’t remember the exact number. She sells French and Italian oil, using fruit of trees common in those countries.
Every week I fall in love with the market, and every week there’s a new reason to do so.
Love,
k
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| This is not the booth where the cherries were sour I didn't taste these, so I believe the sign |
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| This is Amy of Mad Dog Mesa Olive Oil. When she saw this photo she said, "I look pretty intense." |
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