I woke up in a cold sweat early last Saturday morning; I had just escaped from one of my worst anxiety nightmares. It’s the one where the school year is ending and for some inexplicable reason—couldn’t find the room; couldn’t find my locker; couldn’t find my schedule—I had completely missed an entire math course, and there was no way to catch up in time for the final exam.

Like that old Twilight Zone episode in which a guy wakes up from a nightmare where the sun is getting closer and closer to the earth, only to discover that the sun is actually moving further and further away, I had escaped one bad dream to wake and see dark storm clouds closing in fast. Not today! It’s the first farmers’ market!

Already I had a foreboding that my resolution to make this a more stress-free market summer was slipping from my grasp. This promise had come on the heels of one rather shameful performance last summer. I had planned a hectic day of “fun” for some visitors, and determined to get to the market and grab the items on my list in record time, I ran past some good friends barely saying “hello”, leaving my guests in my wake without even making introductions. With a smug look of success, I later found them all, but only after securing two flower bouquets, fresh salad mix, and beets. This summer, I would be a new person.

By 7:30, I had changed my outfit three times, had packed and repacked my tote bag (Still managing to forget my stash of plastic bags and change purse!) and was waiting anxiously for the day to begin, my anxiety level rising with each new dark cloud. I was a wreck by 9:00, but somehow managed to make it through two excellent garage sales—I must add that I am deeply indebted to whomever it was that donated that spectacular red tea set to the Cats Alive sale—and it was time to head to the Agi hall.

Things were not going well at all; by the time we found a parking spot in the already packed parking lot, I was hyperventilating. Avoiding any potentially delaying eye contact, I raced quickly towards Rosheen and Bob’s flower stand, hoping to beat out the elderly gentleman who looked like he might be moseying up to have Rosheen put together a bouquet. He’s lucky that I kept the part of my resolution that prevented me from kicking him in the back of the knees. Instead, I opted for a pre-made bouquet that was quite lovely, and I didn’t have to waste precious shopping time. Give me a break; it was just day one of a long withdrawal process.

With my attractive bouquet in my arms, feeling somewhat like the winner of American Idol, I was able to relax, and really survey the market. I spent time chatting with some of the vendors I hadn’t seen, well… at least since the Christmas markets!

Because above all else, the market is as much about visiting and meeting up with old friends as it is about shopping. It is a true community affair. There was the wonderful music of the Brickyard Band playing and of course, a market wouldn’t be a market without some political issue to debate or petition to sign. Even a rain shower at that point could not have dampened the feeling of bonhomie that permeated the crowd. But the rain held off.

I did my usual inspection of new wares at both Trish Moon and Cherryl Reed’s stands; chatting away cheerfully, as I secretly coveted one of Trish’s delicious woven throws or a divinely decadent jacket by Cheryl. It was comforting to see that Jane Ferland was back with her stained glass and Judy Carson with her great jams and chutneys; both in their usual spots. I like it when everyone stays in the same place from year to year; it makes shopping on a rampage much easier!

I made a pre-emptory study of the tie-dyed shirts and jewelry, wondering which shirt and new bracelet or ring should become my “Summer of 2005” favourite.

 I picked up some of Jocelyn’s new green tomato relish and a jar of her dried herb seasoning to keep for hostess gifts and Jordan picked up one of Tara’s pies.

We were very happy that Bunchoo had brought her tomatillo plants to sell. We purchased two last year, and they provided a continuous supply of the sweet, green tomato-like fruit for many great salsas last summer, even into the fall. We also picked up some of her fragrant basil and two basil plants; pesto is a staple around our place in the summer.

My final purchase was perhaps the most prophetic: one of Mary Aitkin’s garden stones. She calls them Rangoli stepping stones, after a Hindu custom of placing a decorative pattern of colourful rice and other grain flours at the entrance to the home as an expression of warm hospitality, welcoming guests and the gods.

Let the summer begin; leave the stresses and demons outside the door!