It’s the last day of the farmers market season and because she isn’t able to pick up her weekly CSA share, my generous coworker has gifted me with her box of produce. She’s done this before and I’m always grateful. I have a pretty strict limit on our family’s food budget these days and this will help stretch that.
I step out of the office and into the kind of bright blue, crisp autumn Friday where the weather almost seems out of sync with the end of the farmers market season. Not quite yet, the day seems to say. Still, the chill is a harbinger of the cold that awaits us; in the gray of a Pittsburgh winter to come, this same mid-50 degree afternoon will be balmy enough to seduce a few hardy students to shed their Pitt and Carnegie Mellon sweats in favor of beach attire to sunbathe on Schenley Plaza.
I exchange a spaghetti squash for two onions, as I decide if our as-yet-to-be-determined weekly menu requires more than the butternut squash, apples, carrots, kale, lettuce, sweet peppers, garlic, and Italian parsley I’m carrying. (It doesn’t.)
I thank the woman behind the stall for a great season.
“Enjoy your winter,” she says, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically.
I wish her the same and I leave, savoring the crunch of the leaves as I go.
Winter, you can wait. I’m not ready.
Not quite yet.
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