The half moon gourd sits glowing with sunshine yellow flesh on the counter of my kitchen. It’s an unfamiliar squash to me and my family. We’ve indulged frequently in spaghetti and acorn and butternut, but never patty pan. And, I don’t deserve it.
It was Saturday, market day, so we decided to walk the few blocks to the park where stalls from various local farmers congregate on a triangular patch of land in this city scape. The central path, a bike trail on all other days, was a moving cluster of shoppers in masks with bags and dogs, the scent of fresh bread and dill weed, garlic and kimchi tossed about by a slight September breeze. I’d seen this Jamaican-Canadian farmer on previous visits selling his hot sauce, recognizing his Carribean lilt, and felt a pang often seeing him sitting alone while all the white residents passed without comment, without engagement, without purchase. I smiled regularly and nearly stopped to buy, but I already have too much hot sauce in my house – maybe just one more?
Today, he had more for sale than usual at his stall, and there were a few people milling about. His table was framed by flowers and there were beans and tomatoes so we stopped alongside another younger man making a purchase. I knew that I would buy from him today. It really didn’t matter what, but it wouldn’t be more hot sauce. After dumping his large long green beans into my bag beside the minute cherry tomatoes, I pointed to this half yellow moon positioned to one side of his cash.
“I can tell that is a squash, but I’ve never seen that kind before. What is it?”
“Patty pan.”
“Patty pan? I’ve never heard of that. What does it taste like?”
“Here. Take it.”
“I’ll pay for it.”
“No, no. You’ve been nice to me. Take it.”
Those words landed in me uncomfortably and I squirmed a bit before smiling and thanking him. I hadn’t done anything unusual, nothing extraordinary nor deserving of such a gift. He explained that a few half moon squash just appeared in his garden hiding under some large green leaves and his characterization of the yellow surprize made me acutely aware of his connection to the land. He hadn’t planned to grow them, but there they suddenly were.
The land unexpectedly gave to him and I felt this unexpected gift deeply.
is_reflecting 
Awww, what a lovely story! And patty pan sounds intriguing.
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I can absolutely see the scene which you capture in excellent detail. The surprise of the patty pan on both ends of this exchange makes this a slice to savor.
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the universe giving you a moment and a reminder.
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What a special moment. I have never heard of patty pan squash (watch, I’ll see it within the next week as that type of thing always goes). The kindness of the man as well as you comes through in this slice!
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I’m thinking about some things I learned while reading Braiding Sweetgrass. The notion of reciprocity can feel foreign to us, but is so normal many others. He was gifted the squash. He was gifted kindness (from you) and in turn re-gifted the squash. I’m trying to be more like that.
I can’t wait to hear how it tastes…perhaps with some hot sauce on it?
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I love that book and the concept of reciprocity which comes from a communal culture instead of an individualistic culture. I think the part I missed in the writing here was that I really wasn’t that kind to him. Not in a special or unusual way. That’s why I felt uncomfortable. It made me wonder how he is treated regularly.
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Such a small moment that has led to big reflection. I like the comments about reciprocity and connections to Braiding Sweetgrass. We haven’t been to a Farmer’s Market in awhile but I know I will be holding this post close by the next time I go.
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I feel the same way at this stall every week. He’s a lovely man and I’ve bought some of his hand picked flowers lately.
(Thera, Jaidon’s mom)
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Thera! So lovely that you read my blog and know what I’m talking about 😊 Thank you.
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