To Market, To Market

A balmy 56 degrees on a February day in northern Indiana. A gift. Since I am not one to shun a gift, I decided to venture out into the sunshine. Every time I head down SR19, that's "State Road" 19, I notice a huge red barn-type building resting on a road-side crest. I had driven past in the dark, and had noticed that the building was completely outlined in little white Christmas lights. I thought to myself, "When did they move the Taj Mahal to northern Indiana?" A truly remarkable building, complete with three cupolas--you know, those towers on the top of really important buildings. I wondered what this building could be, when one day, Kevin the poker-playing maintenance man asked: "Have you been to the farmer's market?"

"No," I said, "but I enjoy fresh produce. Where is the market?"

I'm picturing an open-air market in the middle of some downtown street, closed off on Saturdays so that local farmers can sell their produce and wares.

"It's not downtown," remarked PP Kevin, "it's that big building on SR19, you know, the red one with all the lights and the three cupolas. The one that looks like a barn."

"That's the farmer's market?" I was astonished that the Taj was in actuality a place to purchase produce.

"You should visit it when the weather breaks."

Today, I did just that. I went to the Mahal, not the Mall, of produce. I wondered what vegetables and fruit they could possibly be selling in February, and found a few root vegetables and some imported lettuce.

But then I looked around, and as far as the eye could see, there were vendors selling everything from Girl Scout cookies (which I bought) to lavender goat milk soap with special healing properties (which I bought) to maple granola (bought it) to ground bison burgers (ah, no thank you).

The market has a food court with live entertainment. Today we were entertained by some guy on a guitar who sang a new last verse with a happy ending to Puff the Magic Dragon. So with Pepsi in hand, I took a seat on one of the sturdy Amish-built chairs. The goal was to listen, but really, the place was packed, and lent itself more to observing than to listening. A great spot for people watchin'.

And watch I did. I watched the elderly man lovingly push his wheelchair-bound wife up to the table where he fed her a snack. I watched the teen at the table next to me sit there with at least four of her friends, all of them feverishly texting God knows who, but paying no attention at all to one another. I watched as different groups of Amish and Mennonite folks came to take their shifts at the family-run stores on the second floor of the barn. (By the way, the barn has three floors, including a demonstration kitchen, and over 51,000 square feet of space available for you to lease.) There were many people, some old, some fat, some black, some handicapped. And all the others.

As I perused the people, I thought, "If there is this much diversity in Elkhart, Indiana, what must it be like in other parts of the country?" What was more amazing, was the politeness among the consumers. I heard more "excuse mes" as people lunged for the last of the hanging doo-dads.

You know, from the outside, you could be convinced that this building might take you back in time to the "general store" era, but inside it is rampant consumerism. Polite, but rampant, consumerism. I asked the guy who runs the speciality olive oil and dipping sauces store what it is like in the summer, when most produce is in season. He replied, "It is wall-to-wall, shoulder-to-shoulder people." By the way, I bought some of his dipping sauces.

The American Countryside Farmers Market provides opportunities for local entrepreneurs to expand their small businesses. I am 100% in favor of that, especially since at a 15.3% unemployment rate in Elkhart County, entrepreneurial ventures are just about all that's left. I would consider the market if I were to start a retail store for small consumables. But pushing and shoving turn me off. And overpriced merchandise turns me off.

People of all different varieties, now that's a sign of God's greatness, and that turns me on!

All opinions aside, tonight I'm going to bathe with my $5.66 bar of lavender-scented goat milk soap. May the healing properties begin!