I just returned from our Sunday Farmers’ Market, which as
summer rolls towards its end has become a feast for they eyes as well as the
body.  Huge mounds of organic
tomatoes, squash, beans, onions, broccoli, peaches, spinach, greens and peppers
grace the farmers’ displays. (If you have never smelled a freshly picked pepper
you are missing something fine in life) 
There are also booths where people sell wild salmon, humanely raised pork
and beef, fresh eggs, local honey, and everything else anyone with an appetite
could ask for.  All for less than
the grocery stores near by. 

A local restaurant, the French Garden, has a market of its
own, for all the produce used by the restaurant is grown by the owners on their
own farm.  They opened up their own
market as well, to draw attention to their place as well as provide their own
wonderful produce, as well as the food they make from it.  They have been joined by other vendors
as well, selling flowers, honey, and local humanely raised chicken.

If Beliefnet had a decent way to paste in pictures I’d show
all these feasts for the eye.

Every dollar spent at these places stays in the community,
rewarding those who have chosen to become farmers not to make money, but to
have a right livelihood, and make enough money to do so reasonably.  For this is one of the most interesting
things about Farmers’ Markets – in many cases the folks growing for them have
gone out of their way to become farmers, and making lots of money is a primary
motive only for the most foolish.

As I wandered around I was struck with the difference in how
the crowd acted compared to those, often the same people, even my favorite
grocery stores.  People gathered in
groups to talk, others simply relaxed in the sun.  I bumped into an old friend I hadn’t seen in years.  This week there was an heirloom tomato
tasting booth, with samples contributed by vendors.  Over half a case of tomatoes had gone put in samples by the
time my turn came. On other weekends there is live music, again local and in
wonderful variety, from blue grass to African.

In every booth it seems regular customers are frequently
talking with old customers about all manner of things, usually food related,
but not always.  We learn not just
about the vegetables we are considering buying, if we take the time and have
the interest, we can learn about how they were grown, and the myriad details of
life in agriculture.

Farmers Markets like Sebastopol’s are not just about selling
food.  They are true community
events.  The corporate mentality
that has done so much to poison our society and its relation with the earth is
blessedly absent.  Instead is a
very human enterprise.

This is how a civilization can learn to live wisely upon the
earth – by not making food simply a commodity, but rather a part of the ties
that connect and strengthen a community, human and more-than-human.  Not every place is as blessed
agriculturally as Sonoma County, and the farmer’s market I attended when I
lived in Canton, New York, north of the Adirondacks, was a tiny thing compared
to here.  The growing season was
just too short: while I was there I’d seen snow start in October and end in
May.  Even here they are not open
all year, nor is everything we look for at a more traditional market available
from local producers.  So I know Farmers’
Markets are not a replacement for the more traditional kind of market.

But I beieve they are an essential piece of that enormously complex
and beautiful pattern of connection that we can all help weave and preserve if
we support our local producers wherever we can.  I think every dollar spent there aids not only the human
community, it aids the larger community.