Waiting For The Bell

This column appered April 23, 2006

I can't wait for the bell to ring.
That bell is the signal that the West Chester Growers Market is open for business once again, and consequently aural notice that my Saturday mornings will return to the enjoyable routine that has been under suspension since the final days of autumn.
The West Chester Growers Market, you see, is a seasonable exercise. It opens the first weekend in May and closes in December. The stalls and canopies that line the parking lot at the corner of North Church and West Chestnut disappear, gone into hibernation, darkening the very world we live in.
That is a crying shame, in my opinion, because there is no finer way to spend a few hours on a Saturday morning than shopping for good, fresh food and bumping into friends you haven't seen since, well, the week before. The experience combines the small town aesthetic of a bunch of colorful characters plying their wares in an otherwise non-descript parking lot with the innate sense that pretty soon you are going to find yourself munching on a good old fashioned tomato and mayonnaise sandwich.
Or, perhaps find yourself opening a jar of blueberry jam that came from Betty's Kitchen, a legend in Southern Chester County, and which you know goes very well on that French bread the guy sells from out the back of his truck. Or maybe you just want to go with that peach smoothie you can whip up with help from one of the half dozen stands that are showing off the best peaches this side of Atlanta, Ga.
I'm not alone.
I know this because the men in my neighborhood take an immense pride in rallying to be the first to hit the market and get their shopping done before the clock strikes 10. As early as I try to make it the few blocks up Church Street to the market, I still catch them coming home, their bags already full and their minds clearly focused on lunch.
I'd accuse them of camping out on the front steps of the Friends Association building across the street from the market, but we in the news businesses don't like to go throwing wild implications around. Plus, their families might object - not to them staying out all Friday night, but to my reporting their conduct to the public.
But I say this May-December romance we have with the market is a situation up with which we should not put. If you are dating the prom queen, after all, you shouldn't have to give up her companionship just because the calendar reads January and not June.
You know me, I don't ask for much. So I don't think it's too much of a request that the powers that be at Borough Hall take a break from deciding how much I'm going to have to pay to throw away the fresh flowers I pick up from the growers' market and dig into the rainy day fund for a permanent growers' home. I say the borough funds construction of an enclosed market space where those who want to, can buy and sell 12 months of the year.
It wouldn't cost much, I bet, and the loss of the parking spaces won't upset anyone. After all, the borough now has more parking garages than Irish-theme bars - something we can all be duly proud of. The enclosed market would bring in more merchants, I suggest, and none would object to paying a small fee for the honor of making my life that much more fulfilled an extra five months of the year.
They could still have the bell outside, too.