The Farmer’s Market…
I love that there is a farm in the Halifax Farmer’s Market – today, with two eighteen-year-olds – both tall and healthy – an Adam and an Eve – selling wholesome winter goods – carrots, turnips, potatoes, and such – looking like a brother and sister just poured out of a bottle of fresh farm milk – fresh from a farm whose name is Abundance.
I love that there is a farm in Nova Scotia whose name is Abundance.
Such Christian optimism in the face of an otherwise popularly assumed reality full of disease and death.
And then, just then, some old Moby comes onto my headphones, with grand sweeps of mystical wonderment, and Robbie Robertson, reminding me of sweet grass smoke, fire dances, and how love leads us, like moths to the flame.
The Farmer’s Market crowd happily jostles about in good festive cheer – cedar wreaths and homemade soaps fly off the tables – the kids from Hope Blooms already sold out and gone for the day.
And the sun on a Saturday afternoon! Cinnamon pretzles and kids drinking hot chocolate.
Such wonderful delights two weeks before Christmas.