Oct 25 2008
Walking to the market is good for the soul
Every Saturday morning in my small town, there’s a Farmer’s Market, held mostly within the confines of the local cafe.
During the summer, the town closed part of the street so that vendors could set up shop right on the street, giving it a bit of a European feel thast it somehow still retains, even with the street open again.
Even now, in the perfect middle of Fall, I love going to the market on Saturday mornings. It’s one of two things I do almost every Saturday morning, and the other is not fit for print. 
As often as I can, I walk to the market, because it’s less than a kilometre from my home. Sometimes one or both boys come with me, sometimes it’s a family affair, and sometimes, it’s just me.
Today, because I’d managed to get so much housework done through the week, instead of “saving” it for the weekend, I had the luxury of walking down to the market all by myself, and feeling guilt-free as I meandered around even doubling back at one point to get a samosa to munch on the way home.
There was something so pleasing about spending that hour on myself. I felt I was drinking everything in with every one of my senses, like I’d never been there before, yet with the conforting feeling of doing something very familiar.
Fall always hits the Maritimes in a burst of breath-taking beauty that almost makes me hurt every time, even though I’ve seen it happen 32 times now.
At even as a mother of two kids, I still get the same goofy kicks out of crunching dry leaves under my feet as I walk, kicking them in the air when I get the chance, as I did when I was their age.
Maybe it’s just being in a really good place emotionally - feeling in control of my life, with a great family and set of friends that balances out the drudgery of my job - but on days like today, the world is an amzing place, and I’m glad to be in it.
