Turnip Truck

I remember at another time in my musing history I became concerned about using the names of wild animals to name models of cars.  My concern was that poor urban youth, who'd never been to a zoo, would become terribly misled and conflicted." What's a cougar, a mustang or an impala?"

 "Well it's a car stupid."

 It would have been helpful if the vehicles at least had some characteristics in common with their namesakes. It also would have been pretty scary if they did. Later we saw the spider, the rabbit, the cobra. Who wants a car that stops, coils up, looks you in the eye, and bites your neck. Sure it was a silly thing to worry about, but I was reminded of it today.  I was reminded when I saw a makeshift sign on the highway declaring there would be a farmer's market in town from 7 a.m. to 1 p.m.

Let's see, it's still May, and what product do you think Farmer Billy Bob has harvested at this point on the calendar. I think we'd be lucky to find so much as a radish out of the ground in Florida now.  But from now until October, in urban and suburban intersection across the country, we're being invited to shop every Sunday at the Farmer's Market.

I just feel compelled to let you of younger years know that absynth, rosemary candles are not raised on farms.  And it's true too that  cats and dogs formed out of scrap metal are not planted and then irrigated so they will grow large enough to take to market. And if you know a farmer? Ask him or her when he or she last baked up some focaccia bread to take to town for trade. Okay, let's get obnoxious. There are hats, serapes, snow cones, salsa, birdhouse kits.  In case you, or you're children were wondering, they don't come from farms.  I did see a vegetable stand displaying things that are commonly produced on farms. But all these veggies had little stickers on them that read made in Nicaragua, or Australia, or New Zealand or some hothouse downtown.  I heard one customer ask, " when are you going to have some of those great tomatoes you guys grow?"

"Mid-August," was the answer. Let's see, my abacus says that's ten trips to the Sunday Farmer's Market, before it is a Farmer's Market.

 I know it's just a marketing ploy, and maybe there are people who really want to buy scrap metal dogs. But why can't we just try a little to keep our language honest. These aren't Farmer's Markets. Until something locally is harvested these are craft fairs, trinket shows, an opportunity for exotic bakers to dump their excess focaccia. The clue should have been when they started bartering with credit cards.

I don't want to scare you or nothing, but there might be a day when your SUV sports a moniker like The Cucumber, your HumV gets renamed The Radish. It's not out of the realm of possibility. We do some pretty goofy things, and calling these little Sunday get togethers Farmer's Markets is one of them.