I've never really been to an open-air farmer's market. I've been to places that have been labeled "Farmer's Market" but were actually just crates of produce stacked in a concrete building. This morning, I caught a ride with one of the roommates and her friend who happened to have a car. We went up to Norwich where a small plot of land was decorated with plywood stalls. The rough platforms held baskets filled with fresh vegetables and fruit. Small white signs with black markered prices stood above tomatoes that ranged from red to yellow to green. A small heap of leeks decorated a bench. Canned preserves and jams lined a shelf like jars of colorful paint. And there was this smell--a pungent earthy odor--that made me perk up, be a little more alert.
Afterwards we rummaged through a couple of yard sales. I was fascinated by a table of wrought-iron tools, lovingly used, a bit worn around the edges, a bit rusted. There was a slender saw about a meter long with tiny jagged teeth tinged orange. I love looking at odd things, but how useful would a saw be to me anyway? Eventually my roommate decided on a three dollar floor lamp that looked like a cross between a crane and a water lily.
