Confessions of a Farmers Market Regular

If, like me, you're a city dweller who secretly craves a regular dose of country living, I'm going to suggest the humble farmers market.

I live in a city of just over 200,000 people, yet every weekend we have two farmers markets—one in the CBD and another on the edge of town at Willows. That's my favourite. Perhaps it's the name. "Willows" sounds delightfully Beatrix Potter-ish. I half expect to bump into Peter Rabbit carrying a basket of radishes (just like those below).

I arrive early. Because good parking is worth getting out of bed for. Especially when you're planning to lug home enough fruit and vegetables feed a large family even though there are only 3 of us to cook for. Being plant-based we do love fruit & veg.

fresh vegetables at farmers market

shopping at farmers market

fresh herbs

Buying my weekly produce at the farmers market has become a ritual. Most stallholders have EFTPOS (one of the many perks of country charm with city conveniences), there's very little packaging, and tomatoes still taste like tomatoes.

My first stop (after the produce) is always the fresh juice stall. They rescue overripe fruit by turning it into liquid happiness. My current favourite is beetroot, watermelon, blood orange, carrot and just enough ginger to remind you it's there. One glass and I'm convinced I've extended my lifespan by at least six months, it gives me a real pep in my step as I wind around and through the newly arriving shoppers.

fresh squeezed juice

tropical vegetables

colourful vegetables

Though lately I've become that customer.

You know the one.

The person asking endless questions about strange tropical fruit.

"What is that?"

"How do you eat it?"

"What does it taste like?"

"Will it survive until Wednesday?"

Despite some very subtle eye-rolling, the growers are always wonderfully patient.

I've made it my mission to try one unfamiliar fruit or vegetable each week. This week it was soursop, which several people assured me possesses almost magical health benefits. Whether it does or not remains to be seen and I'll let you know, but it certainly wins the prize for looking unusually unusual.

I also tried rambutan.

Imagine a lychee that decided to become a sea urchin.

It wasn't terrible...but it wasn't love either. It was fiddly to open, involved biting through the skin, extracting the fruit with your teeth and politely disposing of a rather large pip into your hand. Messy food is not a friend of mine.

Then there's the cheese.

If there's goat's cheese, I'm buying goat's cheese. I love its snowy whiteness and creamy tang. Somehow it always finds its way into my basket, whether it was on the shopping list or not even if it costs as much as the GDP of a very small country.

sweet champagne french bakery

small batch goats cheese

farm grown flowers

One thing our farmers market could use more of is vintage clothing. I imagine a treasure trove of pre-loved fashion—and I could happily rummage for hours. Occasionally a vintage stall appears at Willows, but I'd happily vote for more.

Just saying, Townsville Rotary...

Of course, food deserves its own paragraph.

A French bakery operating from a converted horse float? Love.

Filipino. Vietnamese. Hungarian. Crepes. Donuts. Home baking. Gluten-free treats. Matcha smoothies. Croffles (croissant meets waffle—why choose?).

At an early hour I'm usually more interested in coffee than fried dough or a spicy dumpling, so I tend to take something home for a snack later in the day.

Unless my husband—formerly known as The Farmer—comes along for the ride.

Then all restraint disappears. His restraint, not mine.

The man genuinely loves food. Capital L. Loves. It.

And then there are the plants.

Oh my goodness, the orchids.

They are enormous, flamboyant and completely unapologetic about it. Every plant seems to whisper, "Take me home."

If we weren't currently house-sitting I'd have surrendered by now.

Palms. Ferns. Succulents. Vines. Spots. Stripes. Spikes. Every imaginable shade of green, pink, orange, yellow.

They're wonderfully low maintenance too, which perfectly matches my gardening philosophy: once planted, the rest is entirely between the plant and Mother Nature. Live or die, up to you.

They're also dangerously affordable.

One day my willpower is going to crumble.

When we lived on the NSW South Coast I became something of a market enthusiast.

Locally Kiama, Berry at a stretch Camden (not so local).

Sydney's famous markets—Glebe, Kirribilli, Manly, Bondi, Roselle, The Rocks, Paddington,The Grounds and countless others—provided many happy weekends of wandering, you could say I got around.

So if you're longing for a little taste of country life, you don't necessarily need acreage, gumboots or a flock of chickens, a farmers market will do.

All you need is an early start, a basket of fresh produce, a conversation with someone who grew your tomatoes, and permission to wander without being in a hurry.

You'll come home inspired, carrying far more than you intended, and knowing you've supported a handful of small businesses along the way.

I'd call that a pretty successful morning.

Sharlene X