We interrupt this newsletter to bring you some breaking actual news…It’s happening! By the time you read this, the much anticipated renovation of the Lansdowne Landing, original home to the Lansdowne Farmers Market, has begun! This Saturday we reconvene on the Highland Avenue lot directly behind Dunkin’ Donuts (or is it just “Dunkin”?), where we will hold the remaining weeks of the 2024 season. We look forward to reassembling in our new old spot next Memorial Day. We apologize in advance for any (and there’s bound to be some) disruption in the normal routine for both vendors and visitors, but we are committed to the idea of keeping our market alive as we wait for the next iteration. Stay tuned for any further developments.
And now…where was I? Oh yeah…
Full Disclosure: I’m away this week, so I’m gonna play the cheater card and let someone else say all the things…
The following is a poem that shows up every now and then on FaceBook, written by an expert on the subject. You can’t fail to hear the very familiar Seussean rhythm but the picture it paints is anything but fiction. I hereby copy with pride, the immortal words of one actual farmer’s daughter, Anna Richards
They ran to the groceries, they filled up their carts,
They emptied the Tops and Price Chopper and Walmart,
They panicked and fought and then panicked some more,
Then they rushed to their homes and they locked all the doors.
The food will be gone! The milk eggs and cheese!
The yogurt! The apples! The green beans and peas!
The stores have run out, now what will we do?
They’ll be starving and looting and nothing to do!
Then they paused, and they listened a moment or two.
And they did hear a sound, rising over the fear,
It started out far, then began to grow near.
But this sound wasn’t sad, nor was it new,
The farms were still doing what farms always do.
The food was still coming, though they’d emptied the shelves,
The farms kept it coming, though they struggled themselves,
Though the cities had forgotten from where their food came,
The farms made them food every day, just the same.
Through weather and critics and markets that fall,
The farms kept on farming in spite of it all.
They farmed without thank yous.
They farmed without praise.
They farmed on the hottest and coldest of days.
They’d bought all the food, yet the next day came more,
And the people thought of something they hadn’t before.
Maybe food, they thought, doesn’t come from a store.
Maybe farmers, perhaps, mean a little bit more.
Anna knows whereof she speaks…farming gets let off a lot of “things to be concerned about” lists. The truth is, they are the best of us, working to feed the rest of us.
Me here…rolling through lower PA to an OH wedding, but I’ve left you all in good hands.
In the Artist Tent: Galleria Mona
In the Music tent: Charlie Bell returns…guitar and vocals…all the classics.
Hope to see you next week in our temporary digs. Til then…,
Terry B