One recent day at a gloriously busy farmers’ market, there was an early morning space of relative quiet. I noticed a young couple who stood out because they were handsomely dressed up. (I never understood the meaning of that up, but it does fit this couple.)
As they walked by my plants, we chatted and I had the chance to say something about the brightly white dress with extraordinary detailed hummingbird embroidery dotting its waves of cloth.
Yes, the girl agreed it was beautiful. In fact, it was her wedding dress. Really I exclaimed. Are you on your way to get married? No, they were not on their way to, but in fact they were on their way from. They had been married an hour before.
Imagine. We chatted. About my 51-year marriage, especially about helping it survive the rhythms of life. We chatted. About my plants. Especially the strawberry hanging pots with strawberries spilling over the sides. The promise of these plants producing exquisite fruit for months ahead made them say they wanted one and would return after wandering through the market.
As they left I said something out loud about giving them the plant as a wedding gift. A listening customer loved that idea so much she gave me money for the plant and told me to give it to them — a present from both of us, she said. Lovely.
I did keep watch down the busy market to make sure this couple returned. What if in the second hour of their marriage they had decided not to carry home a hanging plant with all its potential to mar their whiteness? ( The groom too was dressed in white.)
I mentioned my concern to the customer friend now in front of me and he sped down the market to tell this couple of the wedding gift waiting for them. Surprise and smiles. And this is my world. Every Saturday morning in Northampton. Life.