I brought the largest armful of Gladioli home from market this morning.
There were buckets of them, all locally grown, making the entrance to market square bright and cheerful. Because they were sold by stem, I could chooe from a variety of colours. I assembled a bouquet with stems from all of the pink varieties they grew.
I also picked up a pint of local blueberries. Eventually the boys and I will head out and pick our own, but for now, I couldn't pass by them. They'll be enjoyed with breakfast tomorrow in our pancakes or on top of our yogurt with granola.
Oh the farmer's markets are rife with memories. These berries alone dredge up summers past, vacations by the lake or good old-fashioned blueberry pie. But those gladioli do it for me. They remind me of my mother, who grew them in her garden. Love.
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