The wife and I celebrated our wedding anniversary over the weekend. After considerable conversation about where we might go and what activities we might both enjoy, she came up with an idea that wouldn’t have come to me if I’d sat on a rock for a hundred years. My wife suggested that we start our celebratory day together by visiting the Farmers Market in nearby Portland, Ore.
Lest you’re quick to snicker that I’m as henpecked as a male in an American sitcom, let me be quick to tell you that I jumped at the chance, and only partly because my other half is an incredible cook. I had never been to a farmers market and I was genuinely curious to discover the fuss.
I sometimes think that the only thing that Portland shares with other cities is a common planet. Case in point: we traveled by streetcar to find farm fresh produce. I parked the car somewhere downtown, and five minutes later we stepped onto the grounds of Portland State University, where each Saturday from early April into late December some of the streets are transformed into one serious supermarket catering to thousands of shoppers. Only teleportation would have made it easier.
Got a yen for bassoon with your buffalo or elk? Sweet violin with your strawberries and cherries and cream? A three-piece ensemble with your salmon and fresh oysters? Strumming guitar to the accompaniment of exotic wines and cheeses and butters and breads and every fruit and vegetable known to the Pacific Northwest farm? Like your crowds well mannered to the point of a stranger quietly removing a napkin dropped by a stranger? Yes? Then this place is for you, too.
So we’ll see you next Saturday. Look for the couple with the big cooler…the one with the heavy-duty wheels!