I would go to farmers’ markets approximately 18 times more often if it weren’t such a … morning people activity. A chipper bunch they are, and bless their hearts, for the world needs baristas and Matt Lauers.
It’s not that I sleep in like I used to during, say, college. It’s just that in my universe, there’s something deeply wrong with skipping the weekend morning ritual of bedhead hair, stylin’ sleepwear (obviously), glasses, and a leisurely three mugs of coffee from my French press (arguably the best, most relaxing method of caffeine intake).
But goodness knows, I do do the farmers’ market thing, if only for the last hour. And you know what I keep finding? Gorgeous, perfectly crooked, perfectly goosebumped, perfectly crisp little pickling cucumbers. I give up that third mug of coffee sometimes, but in return? Pickles for this girl.
