The Grassy Hill Behind the Market

I take a lot of pictures of fresh, farmers’ market produce—fragrant peaches, warm from the sun; bright orange carrots with their feathery tops and thready bottoms; sweet berries in red, and purple, and blue. So much of the market is visually stunning, it’s hard not to snap away.

But sometimes the images that move me the most are the ones that happen just off camera

This week I went to the Columbia City Farmers’ Market, for the first time this summer. I love this sweet mid-week market, but it’s rather far from my house and I don’t make the trek that often. Every time I do I am glad. It’s a perfect size—just about everything you need without being overwhelming. It’s not terribly crowded, and several of my favorite farmers are there. I also love the diversity of the shoppers, a more real representation of the world we live in.

But I especially love the grassy hill behind the market.



The grassy hill is where people sit down, after they have filled their market baskets. This is where they take the quesadilla or tamale they just bought at the market stall, or the plate of spaghetti. They sit and eat and talk to their friends, families have picnic dinners, kids play together and people laugh and the sun drops low and slants across the grass and there is a feeling of happy in the air.

It’s not just the food, it’s how it brings us together.



Perhaps I love it so because it reminds me of my favorite chapter in the story of the San Francisco Ferry Plaza Farmers’ Market—the years before it became a mecca of gourmet goodness and a tourist draw in its own right. In the late ‘90s, due to construction on the Ferry Building, the market was moved to temporary quarters in a parking lot at the foot of Green Street. It was about the size of the Columbia City market, perhaps a little larger (it’s California, after all, you need to have room for at least two olive oil vendors).

I loved the market then, unabashedly. One of my favorite things to do when visitors came to town was to take them to the market—the best insider’s secret in the city back then. We’d buy some produce and bread, grab some cheese and fruit, maybe some prepared foods as well. Then we’d sit on the grass of the small hillock next to the market and enjoy the sun and the day and our good food and good fortune. I was never so proud of my city as I was in those moments.

Oh I still love the Ferry Plaza, but it’s a different sort of scene now. The grass is long gone.

Whenever I go to the market at Columbia City I make sure to spend a few minutes checking out the grassy hill behind the market. Be it the little kids skipping and playing together, the neighbors catching up on news, or just a family having an evening picnic in the dwindling sunlight—this is the community that food can create.

I think it’s beautiful.



This post was included in the Farmers' Market Report hosted by To Every Meal There is a Season.