IS IT SATURDAY YET?!?!
Someday, at 6am, go to the corner of Rush and Division and prepare to see some odd sights;
rejected frat boys strangling out of the bars they walked into eight hours earlier…
ladies wearing six inch heals, tip toeing around the vomit spot in the doorway…
bus boys hosing down the vomit in the doorway, whistling at the ladies in six inch heels…
and Old McDonald.
Saturday Mornings = Urban Farmer’s Markets
The town is crawling with them. They block off major streets just to facilitate the occasion. It's wonderful, and there are THREE of them within an eight block radius of my apartment alone. THREE! And it’s not just one of those skimpy farm stands where you bag your own apples. No Ma’am, this is serious business. We are talking about eggs laid by CHICKENS WITH NAMES. Not to mention cheeses that smell like feet, soy bean soap, elk meat, chocolate covered coffee beans, rhubarb-strawberry danishes, warm buttery croissants, Casablanca lilies as BIG AS YOUR FACE…and of course, fresh, local, organic produce in every shape and color you can imagine. Plus, (HELLO!) you get to try all the stuff. What more could you ask for?
And you know what --it’s not just about super fresh fruit and veggies, or free samples, or the economic savings (most stuff is 10-30% less than the local grocery store), or even that you are buying your food from the person who grew it; it’s about a mass group of people who are happy to be there. They are crowded, chatting, squealing, dodging strollers and small dogs, but they are happy to be there. Together. A community.