We went to a little family get together this past weekend in Missouri. On the way, we stopped at the farmers market in Des Moines, of course. Highlander bought the most amazing breakfast burrito. It was overflowing with tomatoes, cilantro, potatoes, spicy chorizo, and scrambled eggs. I might have eaten well over half of it if he wasn't such a fast chewer. The little girls had a fabulous time, as little girls will when given the space to freak out and play in the street while an Ani DiFranco wannabe croons on and on about her broken heart and their mother wanders as if in a trance. Hey, that's free reign for my babies. They took advantage, as they should.
I think I bought the last 20 ears of corn in town. The third veggie stand I approached glared at me as I asked, "Sweet Corn?" She barked, "We're All Out!" Ah, Farmers. The lovely tiny Asian woman beside her croaked, "He just went to get some. He'll be back." I smiled and said that I would wait. And so I waited. Which really annoyed the obviously exhausted eighty year old corn farmer. Tori screamed, "I Want To Go Home!" Which of course, she did not. I said, "Sorry. Your mother loves the farmers market and we are staying until I GET BORED." She called me a knucklehead (thanks SpongeBob) and I told her to put her rear end on the curb. She cried. Zoe called her a baby. Highlander asked her why she was so negative and complaining here in the middle of heaven. She noted that she did not know why. Then she snapped out of it and we took some pictures of her and Zoe climbing on him like he wasn't the enforcer of their Mother's Rules. The farmer came back with the corn and I gave her an extra smile. She scowled. I paid her. We wandered away.
Farmers Are Not Marketers. Nor should they be. I'm glad they are just farmers.