In the spirit of John Green’s book of the same title, our theme for the month of October is “the Anthropocene reviewed.” Writers were asked to review and rate some facet of human experience on a five-star scale.

I should preface this post by saying that I work for a grocery chain (Wegmans), and as such, have strong feelings about how food should be merchandised to the public. I also love to cook and am cultivating (pun intended) a passion for agricultural practices that are beneficial for producers, consumers, communities, and ecosystems. Together, I think these things make me the prime consumer (and reviewer) of the urban phenomenon known as the farmers market. 

Growing up in rural Pennsylvania, I was no stranger to the roadside, on-your-honor stands of tomatoes, zucchini, blueberries, and the occasional pint of Niagara grapes. The Mason Farms stand at the corner of Oliver and Peach was a convenient place to get sweet corn, and Huling’s farm stand was the cash-only corner store of my adolescent years. 

Now I live in the city of Buffalo, Elmwood Village to be exact, and there are actual corner stores with mega-size soft drinks and snack foods and the occasional banana. If I need a healthier item in a hurry, I can always spend my entire paycheck on just one item at the Lexington Co-op, which is located only a few blocks from my apartment. On the occasion that I want a wider selection and more reasonable prices, I can always drive the two miles to my local Wegmans. On Saturdays from May through October, however, yet another option for food procurement makes itself available: the Elmwood-Bidwell market. 

(A digression: The park system in Buffalo was, incidentally, designed by the mastermind of Central Park in New York City: Frederick Law Olmsted. His vision for Buffalo was to create a “city within a park” using a series of parks, parkways, and beautifully landscaped traffic circles. I am fortunate to live in close proximity to many of these public greenspaces, including the Bidwell parkway, which plays host to the farmers market about which I am now writing.)

I had been to a farmer’s market before, in Seattle, where I experienced the magic of Ellenos Marionberry yogurt (I never expected to be a yogurt fangirl, but this you have to try). That experience was pleasant enough, however, there is something especially magical about going to your own neighborhood market. The pace of the city can often leave you feeling that you are in close proximity to, yet entirely disconnected from, the people around you. There is great anonymity in urban living—a blessing and curse. The market, however, draws us all out of bed and towards a common center, where we can sleepily bump into one another in the morning air.

Our market (as I’m sure is common) is heavy on the veggies, and thanks to our proximity to Lake Erie, also features a healthy selection of local wines. I would like to know more about both the wines and the veggies, but admittedly, get skittish when faced with the prospect of approaching one of those white tents. Most mornings at the market, I wander around looking interested and nervously buy a couple of things that I probably don’t really need. Yesterday I came home with local honeycrisps, some knobbly carrots, and a bouquet of flowers which were entirely superfluous but have brought great joy from their place on my kitchen table. 

While I enjoy seeing our little neighborhood all together, the market feels like a wholly inefficient way of shopping for food. For instance, there were three different stalls offering carrots yesterday. How am I supposed to know which carrots to buy when the prices and attributes aren’t readily available? I’m not ashamed to admit that I appreciate the organic label and price that are clearly displayed in the produce department at Wegmans—they make it easier for me to make a decision that I (and my wallet) feel good about. 

Additionally (as a side-effect of my bottomless skepticism) I find myself highly suspect that the carrots (or peppers, or mushrooms, or apples) are actually better quality than those I purchase at Wegmans. Perhaps I’m biased because of my pride in our sourcing standards, but I tend to trust the professional produce buyer over my untrained eye, and always leave the market feeling a bit “taken.” The market venue really is the ultimate marketing tool, because the very nature of being outdoors makes customers feel that they are getting a fresher, more “natural” product. In some cases, they likely are, given that market produce is nearly always local (or at least from the same state) and most vendors use organic or low-input farming methods. 

Despite this, I am left with little empirical or anecdotal evidence that the market provides better quality nutrition options than a well-curated grocery list. My point is only that the market seems less about sourcing delicious, healthful food conveniently, and more about having something to do with your neighbors on a September Saturday morning. I should emphasize that there is no shame in this purpose—community building is important! I just want to give us all permission to admit that we like the certainty and predictability of the local food store. 

When I embrace community as the ultimate purpose, my jadedness over the co-option of an urban parkway for marketing purposes is replaced by the pleasure of waiting in line at the Butter Block tent for my Kouign Amann and Almond Croissant. I chat with my fellow devotees and share recommendations with first-timers, and while I walk down Ashland with a bouquet strapped in the side pocket of my backpack, licking buttery pastry flakes off my fingers, I decide that farmers markets are okay in my book, even if they don’t replace my weekly grocery run. All in all, I give farmers markets three stars. 

Ansley Kelly

Ansley Kelly (’16) makes her home in Rochester, NY, where she delights in short, sweet summers spent sailing and long winters spent skiing at her favorite mountain. Between outdoor adventures, you can find her buying books more quickly than she can read them and indulging in mid-morning naps. She works for Wegmans Food Markets where she finds purpose and joy in feeding her community and the wider world.