I realize it is February, and that spring really isn’t supposed to be here for another month, but I am sick of winter.
Every day, I drive past the empty shelters that house the local farmer’s market. Now anyone who knows me knows that I am not a big fan of communing with nature. Oh, I don’t have anything against nature, as long as it is on the other side of a window, or (if the temperature is just right) located just off the concrete I am standing on. So it is a little strange that I feel this pull to go to the farmer’s market.
Our farmer’s market isn’t huge, but has all kinds of fresh fruit and vegetables that were locally grown. Some of the booths have potted plants that you can take home to plant yourself. (No matter how attractive I think these flowers are, it is NOT a good idea for me to take them home. They just die. Quickly. I might as well throw my money into the street.) Others have homemade canned goods — jams, jellies, sauces. I don’t usually buy a lot when I’m there, but I love the atmosphere.
So I am counting the days until I drive past and see the stacks of fresh produce. That’s how I will know that spring has finally arrived.