A Family Tradition

It seems that when I visit my children, we somehow find a farmer's market to go to. I think I know where it all started.

When I was a curly haired little girl of maybe five or six and Wilmington was home, my grandfather would take me with him on some Saturday mornings to the Farmer's Market and the Fish Market downtown. Before leaving the house, Papa would always take the time to look in the mirror and position his straight brimmed straw hat securely on his balding head. It was a ritual and once accomplished, we were free to go. Since Papa never drove, we took the city bus up to Front Street.

As I remember, a lot of people were crowded into these busy, colorful, happy places. I was too small to see everything and stretched to see the tasseled corn and dark green collards on the tables. Mama was known for cooking a big breakfast, and I remember that Papa looked for double yolk eggs and big homemade sausage links to bring home. He probably also bought some okra and green beans too, since Mama used to cook them pretty regularly.

The markets were filled with robust smells, and what wonderful aromas they were, especially in the fish market. Several years ago we stopped in the place where it had been a half century ago. It is now full of small shops and artist studios, but as I breathed in deeply, I smelled that old fishy fragrance. I suppose it has lingered in every pore of the old bricks, giving away secrets of its past.

Papa was a quiet man and we didn't spend much time together just the two of us time. I guess it was because I am a girl. But now that I am a grandmother, I know how much delight he felt in having me with him on these Saturdays and also sharing something he loved to do with me. It is a piece of his legacy to me, his granddaughter, and to the great-grandchildren and even great-great-grandchildren he would never know.