(Check out the prelude.)
(mid-June 2023)
On a recent Saturday morning my Frau and I went down to the nationally renowned Dane County Farmers Market. If you look at the Farm Fresh Atlas of Southern Wisconsin, a handy repository of knowledge about farms, cheesemakers, and just the various people and groups that grow, make, and sell the fruit of the land in these parts, you'll see that there are 7 farmers markets in Madison with a couple of them having multiple times/locations. But it's the DCFM that rules the roost. It is the biggest and oldest, I believe. It's the one that ends up in all those space fillers that have titles like "Things To Do in Madison" and in those best-of listicles that feature our fair burg.
For sheer middle-class spectacle, it's hard to beat. As creationists bleat on about Darwin, hordes of hybrid car owners stroll around the Square filling their cloth bags with delectables with younger folks pulling their kids along in whatever the equivalent of a Prius is when it comes to red wagons these days. Tory Miller, the James Beard Award winning chef, wanders amongst many who are no doubt his customers in search of the finest bounty of the county as a minion or two of his follow behind with their own red wagons.
It's hard not to get a Veblenian vibe here. The food at the market is more expensive yet it has plenty of takers willing to pay the price. But in 2019, over 10,000 students in Madison received free or reduced price lunches at our schools. And, from what I can tell, we're talking out of around 26,000 kids. That's a lot of struggling families for whom the prices at the DCFM are way out of reach.
I don't blame the farmers. They're locals, they're small outfits and don't have economies of scale, extensive automation, nor easily exploitable laborers. Growing fruit & vegetables, raising animals for milk or meat on a small scale, these are expensive propositions and the prices at the market reflect it.
And it's hard to fault the consumers. Well, most of them, anyway. Who doesn't like tasty food? And only the biggest libertarian capitalist asshole would be critical of a desire to support one's local farmers. But it's hard to escape a sense of conspicuous consumption going on all around me at the market. There just doesn't seem to be anything egalitarian to it. It's all rather banal, really. The sellers are making food, something everyone needs. And the buyers are just out procuring quality chow. There's no malicious intent involved.
It just throws into sharp relief - for me, anyway - the divide between the haves and have-nots here in Madison. With pandemic funding gone, more people are food insecure, a situation that only gets worse as housing costs soar here.
While I didn’t buy anything beyond a sorely needed cup of coffee, I was quite tempted as the food on display was just so inviting, in addition to being organic, pesticide-free, and whatnot. There are all these lovely colors and enticing scents and everything just looks so tasty - especially when you go on an empty stomach like I did.
Just look at these free-range shrooms!
There were also plenty of plants for sale. Here are some colorful cacti.
It is possible that even I can keep a succulent alive.
I think the Frau bought one of these bouquets.
I don’t recall what they were. Mini-pansies? That's what they look like, anyway.
A chili vendor had a helpful sign showing the levels of heat of the various peppers.
I very much enjoy the heat of a fine chili but had never heard of several of these. For instance, Chinese Lantern was new to me. Fatali? More like FATALi, I'd wager. Lemon Drop sounds interesting. I presume it has some citrus qualities, if the hop of the same name is anything to go by. One day I’ll investigate some of these exotic, new to me, chilies.
Jams!
I took this photo for a couple of reasons. First, it features carrot marmalade. The Frau hates orange marmalade. An easy way to irritate her and get a cup of hot coffee spilled onto your genitals "accidentally" is to go to breakfast and pass her one of those little single-serving marmalade containers. There have been a couple times that I didn’t think I’d leave a restaurant alive. She was, perhaps, just lethargic after having eaten.
So I thought I’d run the idea of a carrot version by her. She was having none of it but also refrained from physical violence. I guess she didn't want to hurt me in public in front of so many witnesses.
And then there’s the bumbleberry jam. I figured that it was one of those raspberry-like fruits that is rather uncommon like the thimbleberry.
I bought this jar the last time we were in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula which, I believe, is one of the few spots in the United States where it grows. I don't recall seeing thimbleberry jam anywhere else.
And so your bumbleberry jam has this aura of mystery about it.
“Look, Harold! It’s a jam made from an exotic berry!”
But, upon further review, I find that the bumbleberry is like the Loch Ness Monster, a thing of mere legend. There is no such fruit. It’s like the bigos or gumbo of the jam and jelly world. Just take whatever berries you have lying around, throw them together, and voila! - you’ve got bumbleberry. Sneaky.
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With my Frau being plagued by a mysterious allergy-like illness, we sadly called off our late summer trip to London. And by London I really mean the United Kingdom because Manchester, Wales, and Edinburgh were all thrown in as desired destinations for our venture at some point in the planning process.
I recall that Manchester became highly desirable when she found out about Manchester Music Tours. She wants to wallow in nostalgia for her misspent teen years by treading the hallowed grounds where some of her favorite bands from the early ‘80’s such as The Smiths, Joy Division, and New Order lived, worked, and played. I assume you stand outside the apartments where the band members lived in communal bliss and check out the pubs where they played their earliest gigs.
Wales. I don’t remember what the big attraction of Wales is for her. Did she want to see Doctor Who shooting locations? It certainly looks to be an extremely pretty part of the UK. And I would have some of my friends turn green with envy if I had my photo taken in front of the Bron-Yr-Aur cottage – wherever that is in Wales – where Robert Plant and Jimmy Page of Led Zeppelin fame holed themselves up to write songs in 1970. I’d be hailed as a hero.
I also don’t recall why the Frau wants to go to Edinburgh. Maybe she wants to see where the Inspector Rebus novels are set. I’d love go to there, the seat of the Scottish Enlightenment, and walk the same streets as David Hume, get drunk in a pub and blather on about Adam Smith’s Invisible Hand, or go to a poetry reading and have someone regale me with Robert Burns’ “To a Mouse” in the original Scottish with an impenetrable brogue.
Wee, sleekit, cowrin, tim'rous beastie,
O, what a pannic's in thy breastie!
And there are all those places to go that are mentioned in Fish lyrics like the Heart of Midlothian and Princes Street. We could take the Lothian Road!
While I continue to hope that my Frau’s health will turn around soon, I also knew that my vacation time wasn’t going to use itself so I went on a trip up north for some fresh air, hiking, and to visit my friend Jason.
It was a cloudy day when I left Madison. After driving for a few hours, I stepped out of my car and found myself at the Augusta Wildlife Area.
Being a wildlife area, there wasn’t much for hiking trails. Instead, it is mainly for hunting and bird watching. The site has a rather large pond fed by a creek the name of which I cannot recall.
Walking out as far as I dared without either hip waders or pants, I settled into a spot near the shore and just took in the scents and the sounds and the sights. It was simply great to not be at work or driving a car and to have a peaceful, non-manmade spot to relax in.
Where there’s water, there’s red-winged black birds.
They were everywhere and their chirrups came from all sides. It was a joy to watch as they flew from branch to cattail and back. Some of them chased each other over the wetland and I wondered if one was chasing another away from his territory or if they were just having fun.
As always when I stand in such spots long enough, one of red-winged black birds would menacingly fly over my head and then return to a perch. After a breather, he’d do the same thing, often coming down just a little bit closer to my head. This would go on for a few minutes. I have come to assume this is them in big creature/potential threat observation mode.
“Just keep your distance, there, human!”
Standing in such a spot long enough that day also meant ticks. I got two of them on my right leg within 10 minutes. I'd recently heard of some syndrome from tick bites that makes you allergic to meat so I was a bit paranoid at the prospect of never judging at the Wisconsin Association of Meat Processors convention again or enjoying the simple pleasure of an Italian beef. I had sprayed insect repellent on and so I was displeased doubly so. However, it contained only picaridin. I made a mental note to get something stronger before my next walk through the woods.
While the males loudly did their thing, a female relaxed on a lily pad.
I spied sandhill cranes in the distance and took some photos of a pair taking off. Unsurprisingly, I was unable to get an in-focus picture of them as they gracefully took to the air, steadily gained altitude, and began cruising over the trees. Instead, I got a fine photo of their bird butts as they turned away from me preparing to disappear into the distance.
Oh well.
In addition to all of the birds, there were wildflowers scattered everywhere and I had no idea what kinds I was looking at. But they were sure pretty.
Soon enough, it was time to head out. I was to meet my friend Jason in nearby Osseo and wanted to investigate another site before checking into my motel and freshening up.
While driving by a farm with horses, I saw one of them suddenly plop onto its side – just like our cat Piper does. No display of agility, no finesse. Just letting go and having gravity do its thing. I chuckled aloud to myself.
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Bonus photo. It’s Grabby again. I took this one night after I had walked into the kitchen and found her scouring the counter for any remnants of our dinner. Despite being caught in flagrante delicto, she feigned innocence.
“Who, me?”
In fact, she was probably expecting me to give her more chow since she hadn't found any stray bits on the counter.
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