Summer Loving at the Market

This photo is one of my favorites from my husband’s catalogue of photographs from the 32nd Street Farmers Market. The intergenerational aspect of the grandmother pulling the red wagon and the grandson pushing from behind. The canopy tents juxtaposed with the trees juxtaposed with the pavement. The vantage point from behind the table. Looking at it transports me back to that parking lot at the intersection of 33rd and Barclay Streets.

I loved Baltimore,

And the city loved me back.

Parking lot magic.

For the three and a half years I lived in Baltimore, I was at the Market every Saturday. After a couple months of shopping, I started working at Farm to Face, a vegan falafel stand. Standing under our white canopy tent, I started to appreciate the art of placemaking. Within the confines of our 10x10 tent, we could create an experience for people that encouraged them to stop, connect, and reflect on their relationship with their food, the people who grew and made it, and their bodies. There was a slowness, an intention, a stepping out of time—waiting for the falafel to float to the top of the oil, crisscrossing the collard greens for the wraps, pausing to ask someone about their week and really listening. 

People don’t just say, “I’m good” at the Market. There’s always a story. Something about the Market encourages the storytelling. It’s what inspired my Story Seeds stand, which gathered more than 200 stories from farmers, vendors, and community members. My forthcoming book, Story Seeds: Growing Home at the Farmers Market, weaves together these stories with personal memoir, in-depth interviews, scholarship about urban agriculture, and my husband’s photography. 

Returning to the 32nd Street Farmers Market to celebrate its 45th anniversary on August 9, I reconnected with many people from the Story Seeds project. One such person is Cinda Sebastian, who started at the Market 45 years ago with a single card table of eggs. Her business has evolved into Gardener’s Gourmet, now run by her son Waverly. Other than a brief visit earlier this spring, it had been more than five years since Cinda visited the market.

“I don’t recognize a lot of the farmers now because they are two or three generations younger than the ones I started with,” she said. I asked her about what she remembers from those early market days. 

“I remember wearing my best dress to market. It was such a celebratory day,” she said. “We got paid. We could see people buying our stuff. They were so complimentary all day long. Thank you thank you thank you. What’s not to like about that? People that actually applaud you for your work. That’s still the way it is, you know. People are thankful and they express it.”

Cinda’s reflections remind me of a fundamental lesson that I learned from my three and half years at the Market. In a world where we are pressured to create, do, and be more, we are hungry for affirmation—to both affirm and be affirmed that we matter. To remind us of this cycle that we are a part of. As Robin Wall Kimmerer writes in her essay, “The Gift of Strawberries,” to give us a sense of the world and our place in it.