This weekend I found myself at the neighborhood farmer’s market; something that happens every weekend during the spring and summer. If you don’t know, farmer’s markets are sort of a thing in the PNW; every neighborhood has them and many people like to bump around the kiosks for a few hours.
Anyway, there is something I learned about myself this Sunday; I don’t at all about farmer’s markets.
Really all these markets are is a chance for some hippie’s trying to sell shit they grow in their garden, make in their garage, or can in their basement, slap a 200% price hike, call it ‘organic’ or ‘local’, and try to rip you off.
I mean who needs to have a can of your homemade jam, or a bunch of those weird carrots you grew in your backyard? By the way, know what a half gallon of raw goat costs? Before yesterday, I would have said anywhere from $0-$1. Turns out it is $10. Want a dozen duck eggs? Of course not! But for $8, you can get something you don’t want at all.
The strangest thing about these markets is the fact there are hundreds of people meandering around. I am not sure how much product is being moved, but there are always people there, and the next week the vendors will return with their crates full of crap, and more people will come. Again.
Yeah, I understand I may not be the target audience; middle-aged single men do not frequent such things. But I guess I am not sure who the target demographic is. Maybe people who like to waste money on weird homemade wine, or maybe people who don’t know that the chili pepper sauce that guy canned in his bathroom maybe poison, or maybe it is people who don’t know what a supermarket is.
Regardless, these things are pretty stupid. However I cannot say that I will never return. I am sure that someday soon I will find myself in the middle of one of these things once again completely by accident.