A Second Bite at the Apple by Dana Bate

come to cherish most at these markets is the sense of community. I know Frank the cheese guy and Barbara the mushroom lady. I swap muffins for raspberry jam with Josie at Jefferson Family Farms and ciabatta for apples with Maggie and Drew at Broad Tree Orchards. They’ve started to accept me as one of their own, at a time when I could use the company.
    Two hours into the market, as I refill a muffin basket with more pumpkin muffins, a woman dressed in a red down parka approaches our tent. Her mousy brown hair is twisted into a knot atop her head, with a few wisps framing her heart-shaped face. Her skin is a study in wrinkles and laugh lines, but rather than aging her, they make her face look worldly and lived in and delightfully at ease. She smiles at me as she slows her step.
    â€œYou must be Sydney,” she says. “I’m Julie, the market founder and director.”
    â€œOh, right—hi!” I dust my palms on my jeans and reach out to shake her gloved hand. “So good to meet you in person.”
    â€œI figured it would be easier to chat in the flesh instead of e-mailing back and forth a dozen times.” She reaches into her coat pocket and pulls out a piece of paper. “I had some ideas for the first few newsletters, if you can read my chicken scratch. There are lots of exciting developments on the horizon here.”
    I stare at her, wide-eyed. “Wait . . . so it’s official? I’m writing the newsletter?”
    â€œSorry—yes. Was that not clear from my last e-mail?”
    I feel my cheeks redden. “Not really . . .”
    â€œSee, this is why I’m not writing the damn thing myself. I’m great in person, terrible in writing.” She sighs. “But anyway, yes, it’s official. I love what I’ve seen on your blog, and I think you’d be perfect.”
    â€œThis is so exciting—thank you!”
    I glance down at the crumpled piece of paper in my hands. Her handwriting is completely unintelligible. The notes consist of a series of bullet points, the first three of which are as follows:
    â€¢ Dust dial w GG
    â€¢ Wipo spender farm flask?
    â€¢ Winkly prof—RICK
    â€œSo . . . about this list . . .”
    â€œRight. The list.” Her eyes flit in the direction of the bullet points.
    â€œWhat are ‘dust dial’ and ‘winkly prof’?”
    â€œWhat and what?” She snatches the list from my hands and scans it. “Wow, my handwriting really is appalling. I’m sorry. That first item should read ‘distribution deal with Green Grocers.’ ”
    â€œAnd the second and third?”
    She glances down. “ Washington Chronicle to sponsor Farmland Festival, and weekly profile starting with Rick. Sorry—I abbreviate a lot and use unconventional shorthand. Doesn’t help that my handwriting looks as if I’ve had a stroke.” She looks up. “I haven’t, by the way.”
    â€œYou want all of this in the first newsletter?”
    â€œNo. Here’s what I’m thinking. Every newsletter should have a rundown of what’s fresh at market that week, a few recipes, and a weekly profile of one of the market vendors. I realize at some point you’ll run out of people to profile, but then you can move on to profiling some aspect of their business—a particular product they sell, a new farming technique they’re using. Something to humanize the market. All of this will go on our Web site, too.”
    â€œOkay. So what about this distribution deal?”
    â€œAh. That’s one of the potential exciting bits of news on the horizon—though we’ll have to tread carefully. I don’t know how much you’ve read about Green Grocers’ new CEO, but he has made a big stink about prioritizing ‘local’ food more than his predecessor. There used to be so much red tape for any of these guys to sell their goods at Green Grocers, which is why they sell