Delusions of Simplicity

No myriad of food stuffs at the Little Rock farmer's market. No bazaar of the exotic and the rare. There is a honey man, and the Amish Stutzman family sells breads/jams/jellies, but mostly it's all fruits and vegetables in booth after booth, and then limited to local favorites. (It is July in Arkansas, ergo everyone is selling blackberries etc.) There is no schizophrenic mandate to encompass the flavors of the world here, and this is just my problem. Every time I go to the farmer's market I am overwhelmed with delusions of simplicity. Visions of tailoring my shopping to just my most present needs fill in my head. Then I buy a watermelon. I can never finish them and last year one died of neglect in the fridge without ever having been tasted.





D and I went down to the market this last Saturday. Sermon theme from previous week: self control. Result: moderately focused shopping. On the one hand did lose circulation in pinky finger from plastic shopping bags, on the other hand encountered local produce and did not buy unnecessary watermelon. I did get some blackberries, but D and I had them for breakfast after while X played on the playground.