I try to live my life with as few regrets as possible, but today I have utterly failed. This morning I finally decided to look into our local farmer’s market up here in Cookeville (The one down by the railroad tracks, pretty much across from The Way with Coffee shop, if you’re local to the area), and now I seriously regret that I have lived up in Cookeville for four years and had never looked into this place before!

I’m not exactly sure what my expectations were. I suppose I imagined it would be two or three farm trucks with small baskets of local vegetables, probably a little more expensive than the local Kroger, but what I found pretty much blew me away. As I approached, I noticed that the parking lot by the farmers market was pretty full; just one or two spaces were open here and there. Apparently this place was more popular than I thought. It didn’t take long to figure out why.

Upon parking, I walked up to the large, open shelter, and immediately noticed a sign written in chalk on a large slate that said, “Blueberries, Peaches, Cucumbers, Fresh Herbs...(those are the four I can remember. It advertised more).” Wow. I was feeling good about this place already. Yes, they had selection, but when I saw a tub of fresh blueberries that would have normally costed at least $4 at the supermarket with a $1 tag in front of them, I realized that this place was far better than I had ever realized. Not only was the selection good, the prices were flat-out jaw-dropping!

Upon my entering the market, I met Sherry (sp?), who was watching a selection of cucumbers, blueberries and onions. When I told her that it was my first time, she said, “Well let me tell you a little secret. If you really want to get what you want, come early, about 6(am) or 5:30. By this time most of the stuff has been picked over...” Another wow. If this was what the market was like after being picked over, I had a hard time imagining the bounty of opening. Sherry herself was sitting on an empty pickup that she said she had brought full of homegrown produce.

I wandered around, observing the rest of the booths. One booth was an old fashioned lemonade stand, which also happened to sell homemade breads and brownies, manned by a couple of girls who could not have been much older than twelve. The sign said that all of that booth's proceeds went to a local food pantry. There was even a man sitting at an electronic keyboard with two small speakers attached. He played an old-fashioned style of piano that you almost never hear anymore, but he kept the volume at a conservative conversational level, adding ambiance instead of overpowering the customers.

I ended up purchasing more than enough produce for the week: cucumbers, blueberries, zucchini, some peaches, and a small basket of string beans. All this for about $5.50. I believe this qualifies for, in the modern colloquial vernacular, what is called an EPIC WIN!

I drove home and washed the produce with the smug satisfaction that I gave a local farmer about half the money for twice what the system normally would have given me.