Everyone has their, “wise old man stories.” You know, the kind where a wise old man or woman gives you worldly advice that is supposed to stay with you throughout life. The kind of wisdom that sneaks up on you out of the blue and knocks you back a few paces.
I was reminded of such wisdom when I went to the Farmers Market to pick up some fresh fruit yesterday. A Farmers Market is usually held outdoors, in public spaces, where farmers can sell their produce to the public. Products at farmers' markets are renowned for being locally grown and very fresh.
Farmers Market also offer a small town atmosphere, a place full of friendly people -- real life smileys. In Los Angeles, The Farmers Market is an historic landmark and tourist destination which first opened in 1934. It is adjacent to The Grove, an ever popular outdoor shopping mall where you often see people in their own shopping frenzy.
Shoppers are armed with at least a thousand bags while they maneuver their way to the next shop. It’s like the stock exchange. At the stock exchange bells sound. At The Grove, cell phones sound. At the stock exchange, lighted messages appear. At the Grove lighted text messages appear.
At the stock exchange, men and women work at computers. At The Grove, men and women work at their iPhones. At the stock exchange, people constantly talk on the telephone, shouting and running around like chickens with their heads cut off. At The Grove, ditto.
At the stock exchange, a bear market is when prices go down and a bull market is when prices go up. At The Grove, the credo is, “Prices don’t matter, just move out of my way.”
Incidentally, the terms "bear" and "bull" are thought to be derived from the way in which each animal attacks its opponents. A bull will thrust its horns up into the air, while a bear will swipe down. These actions were translated to the movement of a market: if the trend was up, it was considered a bull market; if the trend was down, it was a bear market.
The Grove is full of bulls and bears and I knew I had to stay out of their way. Both places are pretty frenetic and high-octane. Oh great, I am almost into another post and totally off topic, I hate when that happens.
Okay I am reeling my thoughts back in, carefully placing them where they should be. I think I was talking about Farmers Market, right? Oh yeah, I remember, I was going to say how Farmers Market and The Grove are connected by an electric trolley, when I got a little derailed. Ha ha, get it? I can tell it’s Friday, I’m losing it.
Anyway I was picking some apples from one of the fruit stands. I like almost all apples except Granny Smith, (a little too sour). I like Red Delicious, Golden Delicious, Royal Gala, Braeburn, Jonagold, Cameo, Fuji, Winesap, Jonathan, Rome Beauty, McIntosh, Pink Lady and King David, (the last two are my favorites.) I even have an Apple computer, but before you go thinking that I’m an applehead, I do like other fruit as well.
There are more than 7,000 apple varieties grown in the world, and about 2,500 in America. 90% of apples grown in the United States, come from only 16 varieties of apples, and 8 of these make up 80%?
Supermarkets don’t carry every variety, Farmers Market carries a wider selection. I remember first going to the Farmers Market as a kid and the old man behind the apple stand always smiled. His name was Papa Milo (pronounced me-low.) He had the best apples too. They were not only clean, they were shiny and sparkling like diamonds. He always arranged them and rearranged them to get them just right for the customers.
He just didn’t sell apples, he sold experiences. His apples weren’t normal, they were show apples. Like apples on steroids. Big. Juicy. Apples. It wasn’t just an apple, it was the juiciest apple ever. Crunchy mouthwatering apples bursting with flavor where the veins inside carried an extra jolt of sweetness.
Papa Milo’s face told life. He had radiant, thick white hair combed perfectly back on his head. His skin was like a supple tan leather, his brown eyes, warm and alluring. When you looked at him, he looked right through you. Your Soul was in his hands and he handled it with such gentle care that it was both comforting and peaceful.
He spoke in a foreign accent which I now recognize as Greek. A handlebar mustache accented his mouth, his teeth were slightly white and very straight. A blue apron with a long pocket along the bottom hung snugly around his delicately protruding belly. He gave you the exact change without losing eye contact or looking at his hands. He touched your spirit and made you happy to be there.
His stand was always crowed. Even as a kid, I could tell that he was happy. He loved his job. Each apple was like his child. He made them each their best while he presented them to the world. He told his customers that his apples came from God and each one was blessed with God’s goodness. A little sign read, “Free advice with every bag.”
I don’t know if anyone ever took him up on it, but I found it funny at the time. He put an extra apple in each bag with the contingency that the customer pass on a good deed. That explained the other sign that read, “Smile for discount.” If you smiled when you bought your apples, he would give you a discount.
To this day, every time I eat an apple, which is almost everyday, I think of what Papa Milo said. “Each one is blessed with God’s goodness.” We are like apples. Though we come in different varieties, shapes and colors, we too are all blessed with God’s goodness.
It wasn’t until years later when I began to study Greek that I realized the name Milo is Greek for apple. Papa Milo is no longer at Farmers Market. Someone else is there. Someone younger and impatient, who barely makes eye contact. Someone who takes your money without a smile. Someone with no appreciation for the art of conversation. Someone who doesn’t come near the integrity and grace of Papa Milo.
I hope I can leave you with a smile today. Go out there and get your free apples. Seriously, if you work while you smile, you will get all the work done in half the time. Really.
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