Upon my arrival back to the states, an uneducated decision led me to move to South Florida, once again leading me to a land of produce that I once considered to be a delicacy.  As a young girl, I was fascinated with the way one could slice a star fruit which, to me, magically transformed any fruit salad into a work of art. Not only was the beauty of purity prevalent in these mysterious fruits, but also the tastes they provide can instantly take you to a faraway place that the harsh cold of the Midwest never allowed.

Fascinated by these tropical fruits, I always felt guilty when I begged my parents to buy one for me, seeing as how the prices were far higher than a bag of bananas.  I also remember my admiration of kumquats, how they were so sour that just looking at the miniature citrus fruit made my mouth salivate in preparation for the sweet tanginess that only a kumquat can provide.

When one time finding myself yet again, awoken in a small town of France, realizing that the courtyard was encompassed by lush trees bearing perfectly petite kumquats — begging my mother to protect me from the guards, as I filled my little hands with the fragile delights.

For me, living in Africa, visiting France, and now being in South Florida, has always held a special charm, as I learned that the local produce was that of one I spent so many years eyeing lustfully in the Whole Foods produce aisles.

So today I walked in to the kitchen at my work — the local newspaper — I was intrigued by the pile of fresh star fruit that laid upon a piece of paper that read, “Please take one, two, or even three!” Admiring the generosity, I continued to the bathroom and when passing back by the kitchen, I noticed they were all gone. “Darn” I thought, as I hunkered back to my desk with a Diet Coke and frozen meal in hand. However, with my Editor out of town, I must take on quite a heavier load of duties, and with that comes much longer hours that are typically rewarded by personal satisfaction. Today, however, the anonymous “star fruit giver” was also burning the wick before deadline. And to my surprise before packing up to go into the night, a fresh batch of star fruit had magically appeared on the table. Delighting in the free food (I work for the newspaper, and with that brings difficult economic times), but also relishing in the simplicity that took me back to the days when my head would barely skim the produce aisles, but my long gangly arms always had a knack for finding the most rare and expensive — much to my parents chagrin — produce, as a child. And as that same gangly arm reached toward my star fruit that had been picked from a colleagues yard that morning, I grinned, looking nervously around me, wondering — could this really be true?

Arriving at home, tossing off my high heels, I settled in to my couch with my new prized possession, and instead of meticulously slicing thin layers, I let all reservations go, and in a completely untraditional fashion, I indulged in bites of the five triangular edges. This time relishing in the local organic qualities of a fruit I once considered a delicacy, that is now — my next-door neighbor.

Devouring my piece of art, making my keyboard more sticky with each juicy bite, I leave with these words — as always — I continue to encourage everyone to delve into your communities local ingredients.
Alice Waters puts it best in the introduction of her new book, The Art of Simple Food, when she notes, “Good cooking is no mystery. You don’t need years of culinary training, or rare and costly foodstuffs, or an encyclopedic knowledge of world cuisines. You need only your own five senses. You need good ingredients too, of course, but in order to choose and prepare them, you need to experience them fully. It’s the many dimensions of sensual experience that make cooking so satisfying. You never stop learning.”

Looking out at her farm as she said this comment, I envisioned Carol Ann and her husband thirty years younger, starting with a similar small batch of hens, struggling to sell their produce on the side of the road. With my eyes set on a chicken coop that holds hundreds of chickens, and acres of lush beautiful organic gardens, I realized how far they have come. As I stood there, with my parents, Carol Ann, and Aunt Penny (the Mama of all hens), with mosquitos biting my legs, I saw in the eyes of those around me, of what only a long life of lessons can produce — years of wisdom and a beautiful garden, reeking of hard work, sweat, and laughter.

So, with farmer’s market on the mind, I am brought to one question — what makes a market successful? Must one endure years of labor before tasting the benefits? Or, perhaps can a simple smile on the children’s faces — who are running around with cookie in one hand and juicy peach in another — provide enough benefit to the farmers? Clearly there is a monetary point to be made, which is noting the business aspects of the market. While some may be a full time teacher at the local high school, others have devoted their lives to this process, thus basing one’s life on the income generated from day to day sales. So, does the economic drive push these foodies to have successful market days?

For Carol Ann, it is all about education — teaching the generations following ours is the key to her success. The important lesson to learn is how pertinent it is that we do what we can for our environment, and learn now, how to farm one’s own produce, as we see the media focusing on the decline of resources available to our society. Looking around to the hype on tomatoes carrying salmonella, it is evident that we must take action now, in order to obtain true success.

While I think it is all of these factors and more that make up a “successful” farmer’s market, it is also all about the process. It’s about starting slow and ecompassing the journey. Taking one step at a time(or one egg at a time) for a greater good.  It’s about becoming a team, making friends, utilizing resources, and relishing in every salty drop of sweat that drips off of you and everyone around, in that engulfing Texas heat. It’s about bringing a community together to produce a breathtaking outcome. It’s about every person that lent a hand in the process, whether they braved the entire project start to finish, or merely showed up to taste the week’s production.

It is pertinent to stay, in light of all these factors when visiting a farmer’s market. So go out and enjoy your local market, see what your neighbors have to offer, watch the children enjoy the watermelon as if it is the last piece they will eat, and remember to be creative in the kitchen with your new found produce. Enjoy!