You’ve been there. We’ve all been there. Some public event that really isn’t for the public. It’s for the regulars.
During the growing season, many communities have farmers’ markets. We see them around here and find them when we travel. The Upper Lowdown County Saturday Farmers’ Market.
They have local produce, homemade baked goods, preserves, jellies, cheeses, and tchotchkes. Nothing is cheap but most things are no more than the market will bear. Most farmers’ markets are worth a stop and a look-see.
Our nearest one is held each Saturday during the not-too-cold months. It is held at what serves as our market square, which is paved, has benches for the weary, nearby parking lots and garages, and lots of room for the myriad vendors. There are folk who visit each Saturday, meeting not only the producers and merchants but their friends and acquaintances as well. These are the regulars.
We are not the regulars, much more the irregulars.
If we’re traveling and we stop at a not-local farmers’ market, it is a one-time event for us and interestingly we are welcomed, offered the same samples as everyone else, given answers to our questions, treated as if our patronage is appreciated.
Locally, because we are definitely not the regulars, we are treated as the interlopers that we obviously are. If the vendor will acknowledge our presence, they may deign to tell us a price but we can’t expect to elicit any real information about source, ingredients, or uses because the vendor needs to talk with their regulars. Our money is grudgingly accepted and possibly we’re told “thanks” but short shrift and an icy shoulder is what we usually receive for handing over the dosh. The message is “just go away.” I think, far as our local farmers’ market is concerned, we will.