Never be late.  It’s dangerous and costly.

Don’t drive fast on the way down. There are speed traps on Route 30.

Learn how to grill steaks, pork chops and lamb chops in three steps.  Memorize this process.

I’ve got 18 items on the list so far.  When I step away from the computer, Bob takes over and starts writing.

About pre-orders: we generally hold a pre-order until noon, unless a customer has said they’ll be late.  

If the sun beats in the doors, move the meat from the display table to coolers.  You’ll lose too much product otherwise..  

I never thought we’d be doing this.  Saoirse was 10 months old when Bob and I took over our farmers’ market booth at The Round Barn from my Aunt Katie.  She’d operated the booth for thirteen years prior to that, since the market’s birth.  Merely one month of Saturdays had passed before I felt ready to make a life-time commitment.  I would be in this space by 9am every Saturday from the middle of May through the middle of October, gazing from the door of the barn out over the Catskill Mountains, greeting customers as they came in.  When I turned 100, you would still find me here, leaning out over my walker, doing the same thing. 

This farmers’ market turned me into a cook, forcing me to learn every cut on the animal, and every possible technique for preparing it.  It turned me into a butcher, as I learned to translate my customers’ needs, preferences and expectations into cutting room instructions.  It turned us into home schoolers, as Gary and Pam who ran the waffle stand with their kids gave us encouragement and ideas.  It turned Bob’s and my solitude into social abundance, filling our Saturday nights with stories and laughter as we talked about our day at the market, recounting news from our customers and fellow vendors.

It taught Bob and me that we work well together under pressure, that any stress is surmountable with a quick hug, a stolen kiss, or just holding hands in the still moments.  

And then the farmers’ market became our daughters’ playground.  They became friends with the vendors, they made friends with the customers’ kids.  They made friends with the customers themselves. — Bob and I will never forget watching four-year-old Ula hanging out with a 70-year-old woman in a cowgirl hat, sitting on the stones outside the pavilion, the woman smoking a cigarette and nodding with interest as Ula told her a story.   At this market, Saoirse and Ula learned that they mattered, that they were part of something special.  

It has taken us four years to come to the decision we are implementing this week.  We are sending Kate, our beloved herd manager, down to our stall at The Round Barn.

At first, we thought it was just plain wrong.  We are the face of our family business.  We are the connection.  We are the culture.  We told ourselves that sales were absolutely dependent upon our presence at the register.  So when the cafe opened, Bob and I split up.  He kept going to the market, and I stayed at the cafe.  This was how we would maintain our income stream.  

But Kate came to me this winter with important news.  She and Joe are expecting their first baby this fall.  

I’d be a liar if I didn’t admit this scared the hell out of me — worrying about how to keep her safe on the job, worrying about how I was going to replace her during maternity leave, worrying about whether she would still want to stay with us once she had a little one.

But Kate, ever mindful of the livestock, reminded me of the more important part of the news.  When animals are stressed, they don’t breed.  They just try to survive.  When conditions are good, they reproduce.  So conceiving a baby, she reminds me,  means she is happy.  It means she is well-nourished.  It means she is at a good place in her life.  

And we want to keep her in that place.  

Saoirse and Ula don’t go to the market any more.  They’ve grown from toddling around and stealing the vendors’ samples  to waiting tables, pulling espresso shots, cooking, working with the lambs and the chickens, hanging out with the sows, working the register, and sassing their own favorite customers.  

And for them, it all started at the market:  with learning they were part of something important, learning to connect with people who valued good food, the land, and the community that grows up around it.  

As Bob and I pondered Kate and Joe’s baby, we imagined he or she will have all the onesies, diapers, car seats and second-hand baby bathtubs they’ll ever need.  We want to give this child something different.  

We want this baby to know that he or she is part of something important, too, just like Mom and Dad.  And in our minds, that starts with the farmers’ market.  

So in these final hours before the doors of the Round Barn are pushed open, we try to record everything Kate might need to know to take over, from how to cook every cut on the animal, to maintaining safe product temperatures, to knowing where to park.  Bob will go with her the first few weeks to train her in more fully, but we’ll never manage to transfer it all.  She’ll learn a lot on the fly.  But when baby comes, there will be a place where she can safely bring it to work, where the lessons of food, land and community can begin.

And as for Bob and me, we gain, too.  Because if all goes well, he and I will be tucked back in the cafe kitchen, passing orders back and forth, bearing up under pressure, but finding time to sneak out front to tell jokes with our customers and hear their news.  And when no one’s looking, we’ll take any chance to touch one another’s arms, slide hands around hips, dance a little, steal a kiss now and then, and just be in love. 

 

Please welcome our herd manager, Kate Batchelder, to The Round Barn!