The Healdsburg Farmers’ Market is 40 years old this year. It’s been in a bunch of different locations, from an empty lot near the old train station, to its current Saturday location in the parking lot at North and Vine.
That parking lot wasn’t always completely paved. When the market first moved there, the southerly part, behind Hotel Healdsburg, was a dirt lot. Former market manager Renee Kiff had an idea one year to hold a pumpkin relay in that lot during the annual Pumpkin Festival.
We lined up with wheelbarrows, piled them full of pumpkins, then raced across the bumpy field to unload the pumpkins at the other end. I recall being jubilant that I beat a bunch of guys in their 20s, but I wasn’t so happy the next day when my back seized up.
The following year, the broken pumpkins from the relay resulted in a handful of volunteer pumpkin vines, but the relay never returned.
I was happy when the market came downtown on Tuesday afternoons more than a dozen years ago. I was happier when the “Tuesdays in the Plaza” concerts joined the market, fussy when the market moved away (claiming that it was driven off by the music), then understanding as the Tuesday evening events grew and grew.
Now, the market is back on Tuesdays, 9 a.m. to 1 p.m. A morning market is not ideal for working families, but for those of us who work downtown or have flexible lives, it’s perfect, and the market seems to be perking along.
The Tuesday morning market was established as a trial run, from June through August, and it was successful enough to be extended. Now, it’s up to us.
The produce is abundant, the baked goods are fresh and the crafts are interesting, but market leaders don’t know whether to continue past the end of September. Let’s send them a signal.
I urge you to check out the market every week. It has a mellow pace, live music and time to stop and say hello, but maybe we can quicken the pace once in a while.
Next Tuesday, Sept. 18, let’s all make a point to pause in our busy lives and visit the market. A four-hour market is too long for a flash mob, but if we show up, show a little love and buy a few tomatoes, a bunch of lettuce or a scone, we can help this little fresh food market stay healthy.
I’ll be there next Tuesday at 10 a.m. How about you?
If you can’t make the market, you can still go to tomato heaven. Tamara Scalera, aka “The Tomato Goddess,” has set up her honor-system tomato stand once again at the corner of Hendricks and Westside.
Speaking of market talk, one of the small joys of my hectic job is getting Renee Kiff’s column twice a month. When I came back to the Trib in January 2015, I took on too much, got into my “get it done” mode and forgot for a while to slow down and pay attention to the people who help make our weekly newspapers great.
I would get Renee’s column by email and always respond the same way. A few months into the routine, I saw Renee at a Saturday market and she said, “Got it, thanks!”
I slowed my quick pace through the market and said, “Huh?” Renee smiled and pointed out that, even though we have been friends for decades, our primary interactions lately were her emailing a column and me emailing back: “Got it, thanks.”
It was a wake-up call, and while I still sometimes treat contributors to a “Got it, thanks” when I feel overwhelmed, I also try to respond in a more human and appreciative way when I can.
It was in this spirit that I read Renee’s column this week, where she mentions marmots, and I emailed her back with a marmot story of my own. She liked it and insisted I share it, so here it is:
Back in the late-70s/early-80s, I was a blaster (I blew stuff up). I spent two summers at Alpine Meadows, getting paid for “slope grooming,” which consisted of the slope manager (Bernie) telling me to “get rid of” certain granite boulders.
With a crew of two guys, I would tow a compressor and a couple of jackhammers up the hill, drill holes in the cabin-sized boulder, pack dynamite in the holes, hide behind another boulder and make a kaboom.
A bulldozer would then come along and rearrange the new pile of rocks into something that Bernie thought would improve the slope once it was covered in snow.
The local marmots hated me. They would come out of their holes, chirp, puff up, make little six-inch mock charges at me, and generally let me know that I was unwelcome.
When they lived under a boulder I was about to destroy, I would throw pebbles into their holes, bang on stuff and yell to drive them away before I blasted, but they never appreciated my thoughtful gestures.
My crew called me “the marmot lover” because I would delay a “shot” (a blast) if I thought a marmot might be harmed. The marmots blamed me anyway for rearranging their landscape. Of course, they were right.
One more wildlife story. One of the coolest bird watching activities around is to watch the Vaux’s Swifts congregate in the skies above Rio Lindo Academy, east of Healdsburg, and then suddenly pour into the massive old chimney that serves as their nighttime roost.
Over the years, word has gotten out about the tens of thousands of wee birds that make an appearance every night at dusk during the fall, and the academy can’t handle all the traffic.
Brad Benson of Rio says the Adventist school welcomes visitors, but is limiting it to 50 cars per night and is asking a $10 cash payment per car. The limits and fees are encouraging carpooling and the funds go to student clubs
Ray Holley likes those wee birds. He can be reached at ra*@so********.com.
