One side benefit of the farmers market is that it’s adjacent
to the city rose garden, a multicolor, multilevel marvel with interior pathways
that enable closer views of these fluttery flowers. All summer on market days
I’ve admired the rose garden as I moseyed by with my peaches and blueberries. I
imagine other market goers have as well. But whenever I explored interior
pathways, I always had them to myself. Even people picnicking nearby seemed
oblivious to this beautiful garden.
Now it’s October though and on the final farmers market day,
I noticed a difference. As I approached the market, I was intentional about
visiting the roses. Who knows when I’ll get to do this next? Probably not for
seven or eight months.
Virgins and marrying aside, I think of Robert Herrick’s
poem, which begins …
GATHER
ye rosebuds while ye may,
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Old
Time is still a-flying:
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And
this same flower that smiles to-day
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To-morrow
will be dying.
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Other people apparently had the same idea, because I shared
the labyrinthine paths with other folks. As I noted roses resembling
butterflies and anemones, others also meandered, stopping to finger pink
petals, pointing in amazement at roses that towered above them, bending to
inhale a full yellow blossom or to snap photos of a low bush of balls
resembling swirled cherry-vanilla ice cream. Even market goers who didn’t enter
the lovely labyrinth commented that the roses seemed to be more beautiful today
than they had been all summer. They slow-mo strolled by with bulging bags of
apples and wide smiles on their faces.
Chilly October air froze my fingers into a fist in vain
attempt to tuck hands under my jacket cuff. Farmers at the market jammed their
hands deep into pockets and bounced in their booths to keep warm. Yet a young
mom with bundled babe and big orange pumpkin in a stroller lolled on a bench to
admire the roses.
The rose garden’s glorious last hurrah eased my sadness at
saying goodbye to summer markets.
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