The stalls that I frequent at the farmer's market near my home burst with color and abundance typical at this time of year. Bushels of ripe peaches, not quite ready to make way for apples, line the paths of the market floor. The intoxicating scent boasts a mix of sweet fruits, pungent onions and the distinct garden smell of vegetables newly released from plants. Yesterday, I found a pretty pile of bright green okra that looked both supple and tender. While I gathered enough for a favorite summer dinner of smothered okra, Rem quietly bagged enough peaches for a dozen pies. With some encouragement, he relinquished much of his harvest and helped pick out tomatoes to accompany the okra.
"Soon," I explained to Rem, "all of the open-air stalls will be filled with pumpkins and apples." Rem took my hand and peered to where I motioned. The mountains, still thick with green, rose above the market toward the bright blue sky.
"And I will be a spooky ghost!" Already excited about Halloween, Rem teeters between wanting to be a ghost and a beautiful butterfly with wings. Everyone in our household encourages him to embrace the ghost. We like our Halloweens scary.
A battle also wages in my head with this place that for now marks difficulty and uncertainty. I wake up done with it, wishing to make a fresh start somewhere else and then, on long morning walks with Rem and Tam, as the smoky fog gives way to clear blue skies and the day's initial chill lingers I am once again struck by the beauty of this place. The neighborhood rises and falls beneath canopies of hardwoods that will soon transform into brilliant yellow and red umbrellas before giving way, bare-branched to glimpses of the mountains beyond. Beyond the sidewalks, the last colors of summer, highlighted by morning glories and black-eyed susans rise above the grassy yards and the spent blossoms that bowed to August's heat.
Rem shouts from his cushy stroller seat an enthusiastic good morning to everyone we meet on our walks. His greetings are returned with equal enthusiasm from neighbors, other dog-walkers, even construction workers (many homes that rested on generous lots now sit squeezed between new construction that seems to rise instantly on the over-divided green spaces). Dogs bark from houses and back yards and Rem fusses Tam for not wishing her friends a good-morning in return.
My children received the most amazing musical gifts this week and I am struck yet again. The beauty of the people within my small circle surpasses the exquisite landscapes that stretch beyond; a bounty as prolific and colorful as the market stalls.
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