Since I was among the curious firsts, and a staunch market fan, I had wanted to see the opening of the Millbrook Market this year. It was irresistible! You can liken it to the pull of the lunar moon, or at least the Lunar Rhythm Gardens, calling me. Last week with less than an hour to closing, I headed out with a solid purpose: Watch the vendors pack up for the last time in Millbrook for this 2016 market year. Another spring, summer and autumn rolling into the back of the pick-ups and vans and heading on down the road.
The booths were being cleared and the canners gently laid their jars into boxes. Actually if you want more of their lovely apple butter and fruit and vegetable chili you get one more kick at the jar, at the Peterborough Market for three weeks.
But, as one of the vendors said, “It is not the end, it is just the beginning.” These are the hardy folk who stand in the frosty morning and early afternoon plying their wares: maple syrup, rutabaga, beets, potatoes, kale, last tomatoes and something I forgot the name of which is the half sibling to a cabbage and kohlrabi.
Nicely frozen chicken just right for the hearty soup I am planning. Perfect with the parsley, carrots, tomatoes, potatoes and parsnips. No recipe required. Blend in the ambiance of the market, fresh local foods, great comradery that the vendors liberally enjoyed and dished out, and it cannot help but be nourishing, and a delight.
Two pots of winter onion plants, which I now have to sink into the earth, found their way into my care and the handmade soap looked and smelled very lovely. As outdoor markets go, this is not the smallest and not the biggest. That must make it just right. When it is on, usually the fourth Sunday of the month, it is nestled in front of the Old School building and Library.
It was a bit chilly for families to stay too long or to sit under the Story Tree, a marvelous tradition now with local authors and readers entertaining the children and sometimes doing art projects there. And the music is an added bonus as a band often plays.
By Valerie Kent