The Honey Vendor Has No Concept of Time (Neither Do We)

October ninth. The market runs Saturdays until the end of the month, and I have walked past the sign for it approximately six consecutive weeks without going. This was the week Simone texted first, which is the only reason anything happened at all.

We said 'quick lap.' We were there for almost two hours. This is what happens when Simone finds the honey table, there were, I counted, eleven varieties, and she read every single label with the focused attention of someone studying for something. I stood nearby pretending to look at the produce and eventually just stopped pretending. The vendor was patient. We bought two jars.

forty-five minutes at the honey table. we're not sorry.

Somewhere in the middle of it all I took that photo because she looked exactly like herself, that posture, the ring catching the light, and I knew I'd want it later. That's been the thing with the camera lately: the best frames are the ones where nobody is thinking about the camera. Late-afternoon side light is still my preference, but soft flat market-morning light has its own argument to make.

We left with the honey, a paper bag of honeycrisp apples, and a bunch of something leafy that I'm going to have to look up when I get home.

the tote bag was not prepared for this.

The tote bag was not prepared for this, which I said aloud to Simone, and she said that was a personal failure of planning, and she was right. Gerald gets the windowsill; the apples get the counter; the honey goes on the shelf. Good Saturday.