The Honey Jar Argument

January twenty-first. The farmers market runs year-round, which sounds admirable until you are standing under a half-open canopy at eight-forty in the morning in January and the temperature is doing what January temperatures do.

Simone was the one who remembered it was happening. She mentioned it at the end of our last climbing session, just mentioned it, the way she mentions things she has already decided, and so we went. I wore the coat that is technically too heavy for walking and wore it anyway. Simone wore the puffer and looked immediately warmer than me, which is a thing she manages without trying.

The honey table was what stopped us. There were maybe six vendors Simone greeted like she had been there before, which she probably had. She picked up one of the jars and held it up to the sky, that flat, colorless January sky, squinting at the label like it had said something she didn't quite believe yet. I took the picture because I couldn't not.

keeping warm by the heater like it was a full-time job

We stood at the table for longer than made sense. I found the heater, which I will not apologize for. We had what I would call a productive disagreement about two specific jars, and we bought both of them, which was the only correct resolution. The walk back to the bus stop was cold enough that neither of us said much. That's the thing about winter markets, the whole errand takes forty minutes and then the rest of the day feels like you already did something real.

the honey debate. she was right, I was also right, we bought both.