Conversation at the Farmers Market

He stopped in front of our tent a few minutes before eight, a small man wearing coke bottle glasses. I nearly overlooked him in the rush of final details to attend to before the market at Rockefeller Center opened. But he stood there, patiently, until I heard his quiet voice.

“This is amazing, this way of life,” he said in hushed tones, looking around in awe. I leaned forward to catch his thin voice in the midst of the city clamor.

“And all these people rushing around don’t even think about it,” he went on. “It just shows up here; but farming, what is it like?”

“Well, it’s hard work,” I told him, “and rewarding.” I paused and added, “Not always monetarily, but it is satisfying.”

“Yes. Satisfying,” he echoed with something like wistfulness. Then he went on to ask how long we had farmed, and why, and how we kept going.

“A life like that I—think I would crack,” he admitted. “How do you do it?”

In the brief second before my response I didn’t have time to think back over the 2:30 AM rising time, or the hours every family member and friend had poured into the farm. I knew that it was hard and that even so, we would keep going.

“A lot of hard work, and trust in God,” I replied, which prompted another string of questions. A few moments later, before he thanked me for my time and was lost in the crowds ebbing and flowing past, he asked me where our farm was. “It’s in the middle of nowhere,” I told him, after several unsuccessful attempts at describing the location. “Ah, the middle of nowhere is a good place to be,” he said softly.

“Yes. Right here we’re in the middle of everywhere, but I’d still rather be in the middle of nowhere. . . you should come sometime. It’s good to stop and take a break so you can hear the silence.”

“What was that?” he asked, trying to catch what I had said. I raised my voice to be heard over the uproar created by Jason Aldean singing for “Good Morning, America,” and fans screaming and cheering at the instruction of the teleprompter. “It’s good to stop and hear the silence.”

“Yes,” he smiled. “That’s good. Stop and hear the silence.” He turned and drifted into the throng of shoppers, a quiet soul, seeking peace in a shouting world.