*Market of the farmers

Well, today is Saturday, and I regret to say that I slept through the farmers’ market. I am supremely disappointed. Well, really, I woke up a little before 11, but at home the farmers’ market is on Sunday and I therefore didn’t even think about throwing on some clothes and running down the Ave.
Home is a small district of Oakland called Montclair. It’s a pretty tight-knit community, with lots of young families. Weekend mornings are amazing; there are small children and cute dogs and people all over, strolling around enjoying the crisp morning air, getting a little exercise in, sitting outside of their preferred café (there are 5) sipping their lattes and chatting with neighbors, friends, or new acquaintances.
For years, Montclair has hosted a weekly farmers’ market every summer. The farmers’ market was always the happening place to be on Sunday mornings, a place to see and be seen, and pick up some delicious fresh local fruits and veggies at the same time. It was always an excellent excuse for my dad and I to get out of bed on Sunday mornings and take the five minute stroll down the hill into the village.
There is no sweeter breakfast than a sweet, fresh, juicy peach or apple (depending on the season), a hunk of bread baked that morning, and a fresh cup of coffee.
The farmers' market really made Montclair even closer, as food often does. Food brought the earliest humans together, and it continues to do so today.