May-December Romance

This appeared Sunday, Nov. 19, 2006

The dark days are upon us.

No, I‘m not talking about the coming reign of Nancy Pelosi, or the possibility that the state House of Representatives will remain in GOP hands. I‘m talking about something with direct, immediate and dire implications for West Chestrians everywhere.

The West Chester Growers Market is set to close down for the season next month.

Ever heard the expression, ”a May-December romance“? This is one of those.

Every May, the growers market opens at the corner of North Church and West Chestnut streets and We Who Know Its Pleasures flock there to get our weekly ration of organic greens, perfect tomatoes, sugary baked goods, free range chicken breasts and ever so ripe peaches, among other etceteras.

And by ”we“ I mean everybody from mothers and daughters to fathers and sons, dogs and their owners, owners and their dogs, off-duty criminal defense attorneys, off-duty police officers, on-duty folk musicians, retired gentlemen, retiring ladies, and every now and then a Goth or two from the local coffeehouse. It can get downright crowded -- and I‘m talking Restaurant Festival crowded -- in the early hours of the day when everybody is angling for the best looking squash and the freshest loaf of French bread.

Then, every December, as the wind blows the last leaf from the last branch and the sun struggles to keep the temperature above 40, they shut the place down. You‘ve seen it coming but it still breaks your heart, like the cruelest end to the grandest love affair you can imagine.

Winter in West Chester is dark, but it is made even darker when you wake on Saturday morning and realize you‘re going to have to get your mixed greens from the supermarket veggie case instead of the friendly guy with the Amish straw hat.No more chow chow and canned peaches from Lizzie‘s Bakery. No more whoopee pies, either. Gone is the chance of scoring a wedge of garlic and chive cheese from the guys at Oak Shade Cheeses. Not a bloody chance of resupplying the Lemon Calendula soap bars from Ellen April soaps.It strikes me as criminal that the good things in life in West Chester have to go into hibernation just because the calendar page turns. In my home town, Cincinnati, there‘s a farmers‘ market that is open year-round because the city decided to build it an enclosed space.

So I was thinking that perhaps it‘s time for the powers that be in West Chester to start pressuring those developers who want to build 40-story hotels on Chestnut Street to include prime space for the market in the building so the growers could operate from New Years to Christmas.

That‘s right. I say perhaps it‘s time for everyone to demand a growers market provision in the redevelopment authority‘s bylaws. I say we speak out with petitions and letters and late-night prank telephone calls and e-mail Internet blogging campaigns.

Right? I ask Keith Fahnestock, owner of Fahnestock Fruits, the market‘s gateway table stand.

”Well, you get kinda glad when it‘s done,“ Keith replied, somewhat sheepishly, about the approaching closing date. ”It‘s nice to take a break.“

Oh. Well. Maybe you‘re right.

Anyway, see you in the springtime.

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.