Wrinkled heads of new cabbage chopped into cabbage salad with celery salt and carrots in nickels and dimes.
Cold mornings at the farmers market when the egg lady slips a dozen eggs into my canvas bag. "I feel like a drug dealer," she whispers. "Don't let anyone see them. "
The San Anselmo community garden watching flocks of reggae sounding wild birds eat the remaining high hanging persimmons.
Learning that brown sugar is a mixture of molasses and regular sugar and that I can make my own.
Receiving a homemade t-shirt with Chicken Plucker quilted across it.
It's already a good year.
3 hours ago