It was the last day of this year’s farmer’s market on Saturday. As usual, I was there for the opening bell at 8:30AM so that I wouldn’t lose out on some items that sell quickly.
I started in back with the smoked salmon stand – yummy stuff whether eaten as a snack or in scrambled eggs – and worked my way toward the front of the market.
The strawberries this late in the season were few and scrawny compared to a couple of weeks ago but the raspberries and especially the blackberries were still at their peak of sweet perfection. Irresistible.
I was sorry to see that the cute, little melons – about the size of grapefruit – I’ve been eating for several weeks were gone, finished for the year.
Apples and pears, of course, are in full swing so I bought some of those and I stopped to chat with the mushroom lady, buying half a pound or so of shiitakes. After picking out a few vegetables for the coming week, my bags were full and becoming unwieldy so I was ready to head home.
Until I saw a local policeman at a table with a very large German shepherd. I stopped to see what that was about.
They – man and dog – are members of the K-9 team which consists of two dogs at the police department in this small town. There were various K-9 stickers and “tattoos” on the table that the officer was giving away to children visiting the market with their parents, and he was selling K-9 teeshirts at $10 each.
Knowing how strapped all local governments are these days, I bought two shirts, then hoisted my bags of food onto my shoulder – very carefully so that maybe, just maybe I wouldn’t squish the berries on the way to my car and home.
Two or three hours later, as I juggled some work at the computer with occasionally stirring apple sauce on the stove in the kitchen, there came a knock at the front door – loud enough to startle me. When I peeked through the window, I spied a uniformed police officer.
As I opened the door, he held up a small card about even with my face, looked at it, looked at me and back a couple of times, then said, “Yep, that’s you.”
It was my drivers license photo he was comparing to my actual face which he handed to me with my wallet.
Even as the officer explained that he was delivering the wallet I had left behind on the K-9 table at the farmer’s market, it took a few beats for me to understand what had just happened – that this nice, young man had saved me a dozen telephone calls, uncountable emails, a lengthy period of inconvenience and who knows how many followups while I replaced every damned card in my wallet – if I could remember which cards I kept there.
And how lucky is it that I left the wallet ON THE POLICE TABLE where, probably, no one would have the nerve to steal it from right under the noses of the K-9 cop and his humongous German shepherd.
We have all been through this with lost wallets – canceling credit/debit cards, replacing the drivers license, insurance identifications, Medicare IDs, etc. and the inconveniences that go with it.
Even with all the replacement hassle, I can think of much bigger problems that could befall anyone and anyway, I was spared it. But with so much wrong in our world these days, today I wanted to mention something good that happened.
At The Elder Storytelling Place today, Mary B Summerlin: Death and Dying