A farmer's market sits on the east side of the road just south of town. I read about it on Mama's facebook and think to check it out. In my mind, the expectant everything is heaven side, I had pictured a long tin covering held by beams donated from the people who provide us energy. I am guilty of farmer's market profiling though I tell myself that's okay 'cause in my mind all races, sizes, nationalities, genders and socioeconomic statuses can grow or make something and take it to a place and share with the locals at a fair price. Same people can buy there as well. Just the thought of it makes me smile. People at farmer's markets just seem to be cool people. There it is again. Profiling.
I hear a woman laugh across what used to be a small convenience store. I turn not only because I am addicted to laughter but because she sounds like she has some Slay in her. She sounds like Aunt Marilyn. Aunt Marilyn, she of the pickles, the flower beds which give Disney World a run for their money. She of the quentisential Slay laugh. It's not her but the woman who carries the genetic trait catches my eye and I her's. Then she says loud and slow, Well I didn't mean to eat everything. I'm gonna get fat without even buying something. Them jalepeno pickles. Uuuummm hm, those are good. The nice lady at the cash register nods, and I smile. I just want to hear her laugh again.
This place specializes in the Amish goods which makes sense since the Menonites stay north of town. If you're ever gonna profile someone I'd say it would be most correct to tell that those are some hard working folks, those of extreme focus with a genial nature. Always a smile, never much into gossip, finding the land to be of a take care of all your needs type of place. The woman with the Slay laugh says for the small room, I tell you why this stuff is so good. It's still made with some country in it.
I think this may be a store I'll be frequenting.
Today I am grateful that no matter where we go we find ourselves there.