Kimberlee K.

About once a month I volunteer with Food Forward at a local farmer’s market, collecting food from vendors that they otherwise would’ve had to throw away, and donating it to food relief organizations.

It’s a light, breezy way to spend an afternoon—with the occasional burst of cardio and strength training as you transport heavy boxes from place to place.

I always enjoy the strolls up and down the market with my fellow volunteers, our hands tucked into the pockets of our aprons as we smile at the vendors and prep for collection.

While farmer’s markets, by trade, are meant to be leisurely—a fun way to spend a morning or afternoon, often on the weekends when you’re trying to slow down—I sometimes can feel intimidated as a shopper, nervous to make eye contact with a vendor in fear they might start a pitch I’ll feel too bad to turn down. I always try to look quickly, and move from one to the next to the next to the next. So I often miss the nuance that exists at different booths, the hidden gems (and free samples) to be found by being brave enough (or perhaps just extroverted enough) to stop and have a conversation.

But when I’m volunteering, I feel like I better get to experience the market. I can move slowly and linger, looking at booths while not being sized up as a customer. And since each set of volunteers I work with is different, I’m always given new recommendations of what to try, what to buy the next time I come around.

“I never leave without getting some of that yogurt. But you have to get here early because all the flavors sell out.”

“Her flowers are my absolute favorite, the bouquets are so unique!”

“You need to try one of these oranges, they are like nothing you’ll find in a grocery store.”

Being a kind of behind-the-scenes worker, I feel like I get an ever-deepening sense of the community behind the market—both the one it’s serving and the one putting it together. It’s fun to put a face to a product, a story to a business, rather than always grabbing things off a shelf at a supermarket.

It’s fun to feel like a part of the community, of the slow-paced Sunday shoppers that I might otherwise have only crossed paths with on the road rage speckled spurts of freeway traffic.

I like seeing the outfits—so fancy, so curated, so fun—and the occasional familial coordination. I like hearing kids gasp at the sight of treats, asking, “can I have this? Mom, please!” Or hearing the mom’s give an attention grabbing CLAP, to ask, “what do we want for lunch?” Or to see a parade of happy dogs pant with their tongues out, delighted just to be outside among so many new sights and smells.

I like seeing faces light up in recognition of an old friend or returning customer, of enthusiastic hands shaking or waving or cupping around their mouth to say, above all the noise, “let’s grab coffee this week!”

I like seeing couples holding hands, maybe for the first time, on their first date, their posture nervous and polite as they attempt to share a churro or an ice cream sandwich or a container of seasoned fruit.

I like seeing the vendors take down their booths slowly, relieved after a good day of sales, laughing with their coworkers or their neighbors or the market crew, telling them, “see you next time!”

And I like the quiet that exists after everything is taken down, when the street is once again converted into something drivable, and in many ways there is no trace that a bustling market was ever there.

I like to imagine everyone making their way out to lunch or to the beach with their fresh finds or maybe back home to nap or swim or change out of their farmer’s market finest into their Sunday cozies, to lounge and think and prepare for the week ahead.

Maybe they call a friend and ask how their morning was, asking, “Did you go to the market this week?” and they tell them everything they found.