Moss Street Market

The chestnut tree flowering, I think.

Gillian and Rebecca were setting up the tent for Umati to sell her indigenous art in the Moss Street Market. That would be mostly Gillian, for by the time we got there to help, Gillian had set it up by herself, leaving nothing for Rebecca and me to do.

I needed to add steps to my fitbit, so I walked around the market watching sellers getting their tents ready. I heard someone going around calling out, “Who owns a Silver BMW.” Rebecca heard the caller as well. Then she realized, oh, that is my car, for I am driving Steve’s car and that is its description.”

Apparently you aren’t allowed to park on the street near the market. Those stalls are kept for the sellers who come in with big trucks of goods and need to be close to their tents to bring in extra supplies.

At 10 am a man goes through the market, ringing a bell, and that is when sales are to start. At 2 pm he rings the bell again and the shopkeepers take down their tents and go home.

From 10 am until noon a duet (2 guitarists) were playing music. One of the guitar cases was open and the sign said “Buy Our CD: $10”. The music was mellow. I listened for a while. Sweet music.

I never get over the colour of these flowers.

The line-ups to purchase goods were long at the artisan bread shops; people lined up long before the bell rang.

I was curious about a square flat bun, the middle of which was flat like a plate and containing a fried egg, some braised asparagus, some olives and I can’t remember what else.

I should have purchased one.

If I had been Wyona, I would have. Instead I continued walking up and down the corridors of the market.

A couple of children came over to play in the playground where I was resting.

The older girl had a couple of green worms in her hands, the kind that hangs down from the cherry trees in our front yard.

... the dogwood tree in flower ...

Rebecca has asked Steve to park his car under the branches of that tree, for she doesn’t like to park her car there, the worms dropping down her head and shoulders when she gets out.

I don’t think he actually likes it either, but he made the change for her.

At any rate, the two children from one family had collected a couple of those green worms and were using them as pets where I was sitting, having the worms talks to each other. 

Another child came over saying, “I don’t think your pets are doing well. One of them is shrivelling.”

Good thing there are more worms where that one came from.

Arta