Why I Cried at the Farmer's Market

A Gracious Plenty:  Quirky Ideas, Thoughts and Ideas

By Dr. Larry Pittman Goddard

There’s No Crying at Farmer’s Market!

"That's the kindest old man I've ever met."
I heard the tween-ager tell her Mom as I left the Farmer's Market this morning. A live band was playing, "Your Cheating Heart" and the lead singer seemed more at home in a honky-tonk bar than a tent-covered locally-grown produce market.

Less than two minutes earlier, the young girl and her mother stood across their booth table full of onions, tomatoes and squash; the other side was a loud, mean customer who was hollering, "I gave her a TWENTY!!"

I'd call the bellowing creature "a cow" but that's not fair to Holsteins--Udderly Disgusting Bovine screaming at the 12-ish year old girl, who was nervously twisting her elastics in the orthodontic work and pulling at the maroon t shirt with FFA (Future Farmers of America) printed on the front. The farmette's Mama just gave up and handed the woman AKA "Milker", whatever extra money the fuss was about , all the while the old hoofed heifer was hollering, "I'm NOT the kind of person who CHEATS!"

Yeah, listen to the background music, you old clabbered low life! Nothing is coincidental.
Off she went, and the little girl dissolved in tears and her Mama hugged her.

I slipped them a $20 bill and Farmer Mama said, "No, please, no", and I mouthed silently, "Let me do this, please". Here this family is making their living literally from the ground upwards--they couldn't cheat a person even with a gun to their heads.

The $20 was actually my own Mother's money--yep, I'm 57 and a half; she gave me spending money for the Farmer's Market! But, what a world of good it gave to see those braces shiny in the girl's smile. She tried to say, "Thank you", but couldn't get the words out which was just fine with me. She was kind of hiccuping which is always a sign that you're growing.

I grabbed a little bag of onions--the last thing I needed--but they wanted to do business rather than take a handout. I told them whatever happened before I got there doesn't matter; it didn't seem right and just let this make up the difference for now. They promised.

When I got to the car, I saw I was parked next to the Moo Cow and the little devil Larry on my shoulder in a red suit with a tail and the pitch fork told me, "Open your car door all the way and scratch her vehicle....leave her a four-lettered one-word note on her windshield..." I'd like to say salvation Larry(the mini me in Angel with Wings Outfit and a harp on my shoulder) stopped me from doing these things to Bessie's Cow Paddy Wagon, but truthfully, it was more because of my fear of hidden security cameras and DNA testing.

So, I got in the car with my unneeded, albeit pungent, bag o' onions and started to cry ugly, not because of the onions.

But, because it was the first time I didn't mind being called, "old".