The sun comes out and suddenly, this town is full. Packed to the edge of the street corners with spaghetti-strapped, sun-screened bodies. No day shows this off quite as boldly as Saturday, when the Farmer’s Market is in full swing, boasting sights and sounds and scents so overwhelming that a girl could just sit on a bench all morning and take in the show with all five senses.
While I recovered from Lydia’s birth, camped out in a glider with infant and secondhand magazines, I looked forward to a Saturday like this one: setting out in the summer sun with Lydia in the carrier – snuggled up against Mitch’s chest, sleeping – all of us hurtling forward toward downtown just to browse and accidentally bump into folks we know.
These are the moments that make me feel like we really are a family. Removed from the context of our home and submerged in the loud, outside world, I see us as we must briefly appear in the eyes of strangers: new parents, sunburned ourselves and fretting over our daughter’s gentle skin.