I can always tell what time of the year it is by where the sun is in the sky when I go to work on Saturday mornings. I have a booth at the Hillcrest Farmers Market, selling my homemade pasta sauce. The market opens early on Saturdays — 8 a.m. in the winter, 7 a.m. in the summer.
This Saturday morning, as I leave my house around six o’clock, the sky is already lightening, and getting brighter by the minute. When I leave my house in west Little Rock, the sky is still tinged with gray, and if you didn’t know better, you could confuse the gleaming new dawn with the gloaming of the day. But by the time I arrive at Pulaski Heights Baptist Church and begin setting up my booth, the sun is fully shining. The dew is beginning to burn off, and the temperature is already warm, but still bearable. Like me, the sun has arrived to do her job, and by the time I can quit doing mine when the market closes, she’ll be showing us no mercy.
This is June in Little Rock.
As much as I grumble about getting up early on Saturdays, there’s really no place I’d rather be than at the farmers market. I call everyone there “my people.” I am always in awe of the farmers who bring their crops and eggs and meats and more. Because while I go to work at the crack of dawn only one day a week, they begin their labors early nearly every day. There’s Kelly, and Tara, and Mitchell, and Amanda, and Julie, and Joy, with their plump blueberries, glowing tomatoes, delicious jellies and savory sausages. I especially love stopping by the Pulaski Heights Elementary Garden booth to see what the students, and their fearless leader Mr. Wills, have grown recently. Today they are selling vibrant bouquets of mixed flowers, perfect for a kitchen windowsill.
At seven o’clock exactly, one of the church’s volunteers rings the cowbell to let us know it’s time to start selling. Today it’s Judy with the bell. Next week, it may be Angie or Melissa. The volunteers do a fantastic job of organizing the market, helping us set up our tents, greeting new shoppers, and cleaning up after the crowds leave. During the summer, they even run a booth where kids can make crafts and cool down with a popsicle.
It’s only moments after the bell that the shoppers begin arriving. The smart ones get there early, because the saying “the early bird catches the worm” has never been more appropriate. If you want the biggest squash or freshest basil, you’d better be willing to get up nearly as early as us vendors do.
Each week, some of the first shoppers are chefs from restaurants. There’s Jack from The Root, Justin from Southern Gourmasian, and Capi from Trio’s. It heartens me to see so many local restaurateurs supporting local farmers. “Farm-to-table” shouldn’t be just a catchy slogan. This is how we should always eat, as often as we can. Luckily, we live in a fertile state with a variety of crops, so thanks to our local farmers markets, this is an attainable goal.
Throughout the morning, I enjoy visiting with our regular customers. I chat with them, catch up, ask how their vacation was, watch their children grow. They’re my people, too, and seeing them is the highlight of my week. It’s always fun to see new faces and meet new customers, too. But the regulars know one thing the newbies often don’t: Always come to the farmers market on an empty stomach. Between samples at the booths and fare from the food trucks, you’ll never go home hungry.
Before I know it, the sun is directly overhead. It’s noon, and time to pack things up. Just in the nick of time, too, as this is usually when the temps become unbearable, or summer showers start to pop up. My work day is done, but my, what a pleasurable shift it’s been.