Urban Farmers' Markets and a Sense of Place

Reader Contribution by Brent And Leanna Alderman Sterste
Published on March 27, 2009
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When I first started traveling to New York City for work, I was fascinated by the glamour of city life.  I stayed in fancy hotels (at least by my family’s standard!), ate in very nice restaurants (ditto), and spent my free time just walking around, being a part of the energetic rush of the city.  By my third visit though, I wasn’t really having fun anymore.  I was tired of the intense hurry everyone was in.  I was becoming annoyed with how impersonal and self-obsessed the culture felt.  I was disheartened by wandering through stores that not only could I not afford, but I was discovering, I had no desire to even aspire to afford.  So on my most recent business trip, I decided to take my family along for entertainment.

I only had to work Friday, so we’d have all day Saturday to ourselves.  That Friday, despite some of the best sushi I’ve ever eaten and a pair of designer knock-off sunglasses from a street vendor, my experience was still about the same.  I found myself in the middle of Manhattan just wanting to run screaming out of town.

Given all that frustration, I think I was well prepared for and deeply in need of Saturday’s discovery.  Heading down toward Greenwich Village to have brunch with some friends, my family and I got off the subway in Union Square and after struggling to wrangle our double stroller up the  handicap-inaccessible exit stairs, walked into the middle of the largest farmer’s market I’d ever seen.   We were surrounded on every side by apples, chicken and quail eggs, micro-greens, mushrooms, bunches of freshly cut pussy willows, potted tulips, goat cheese, and maple syrup.

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