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Sts. Zachary & Elizabeth

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Every Saturday morning I go down to the Farmers Market that’s taken over what used to be the Dayton train station. This is not the train station for people (which is now an expanse of crumbling asphalt under a highway overpass), but the one where freight came and went. It’s a long, narrow building with market stalls tucked into what used to be cargo bays.  It has one long aisle down the center where shoppers duck and squeeze their way through, trying to avoid getting clobbered by one person’s massive arm load of flowers while dodging the wide eyed newbies who have decided that right in the middle of the aisle is a fantastic place to contemplate the breakfast menu at the South American/ Lebanese stall, sliding past the suburban family with their double wide stroller, and if they’re lucky, still arriving at the dairy stall before they sell out of Greek yogurt. It’s a great way to start off a weekend, especially since,  though the dairy man may sell out of his rich, non-homogenized milk awfully fast, Caffeine Carl never runs out of coffee.

And then sometimes you find ridiculously beautiful things, like this little bunch of radishes I picked up from Mile Creek Farms, one of my favorite vendors. They were on top of a whole pile of radishes that were just the same, all gleaming in the morning sun as if such pink and white prettiness was just the way radishes always look. (What, this old thing? I only wear it when I don’t care how I look!)

So of course I had to bring a bunch home with me, and take some pictures. Then I ate them for lunch, with Amish butter on rye pumpkin seed bread and a scatter of kosher salt. It was all from the Farmers Market, and all of it was good.

Today I am praying for Deborah Amos.