(Other than the fact that it’s a Saturday, today’s headline has nothing to do with the subject or content of this post. Just sayin’.)
Just a beautiful spring day today, after a very chilly (40°F) start. I didn’t work outside, though — once Smudge and I returned from an earlier-than-usual trip to town, I busied myself inside the cabin.
Not only did we get out of the gate fast this morning, we conducted business in both Yellville and Flippin. Notably, I did a small grocery run in advance of my monthly curbside-pickup haul. (That’s still ten days out.)
On the way to Harps, however, I dropped by the Yellville Farmers Market. Doing so is, for me, a practical matter as well as an expression of principle, but I must tell you, I also find every visit uplifting.
The reason? This is as real as it gets. Nobody there re-packages goods they bought in bulk and tries passing them off as homemade — the people behind these tables are the ones who kneaded the dough, stirred the pot, canned the preserves, planted the seeds and fed the chickens.
That kind of authenticity is rare in this world.
It’s common at farmers markets.
One of the items on my (short) shopping list was eggs. I could pick up a dozen at Harps for $1.78. They’d be cheaper at Walmart, $1.47, and I’d be heading that direction anyway.
Or I could hand three dollars cash to a salt-of-the-earth fella and take home a dozen unwashed large eggs from free-range hens he’d raised from chicks. And yes, I know that’s more than twice what I’d pay at the store.
It was a no-brainer. I treated myself to a blueberry muffin, too, baked yesterday by his wife.
So many moments combine to make these the very best days of my life. A simple transaction at a farmers market is but one of them. It’s great to be here.
Take care of yourselves, Patriots. Stay calm. Stay sharp. Stay free.
#WiseUp #LibertyOrDeath #Ungovernable