“You just walk down 13th until you get to oak, then turn right and keep going. You can’t miss it, trust me.” Those were my texted directions on how to get to the Saturday Market. I had never been and from what I had heard of the weekly spectacle, it sounded like a more or less crime to ignore its existence. I decided to check it out. That’s not to say I was conforming or anything. I just wanted to see what this “Saturday Market” business was about.
The date was set for Saturday, April 28, 2 p.m. I would be meeting Sam — my fearless companion to all things Eugene — at the market. As I walked down Oak Street, I heard the low rumble of drums in the distance. Passing by a yellow diamond-shaped sign that read “Saturday Market,” I knew I was close.
I stopped just at the edge of Oak and East 7th Street. Beyond me was the event that had piqued my excitement for the past week. I pulled out my phone to send Sam a text. I was too nervous to venture in without my guide. Not because my first impressions with the market made me fear for my safety, but because I did not want to become lost, impossible to find in the sea of vendors and booths. As I religiously checked my phone for a text, something to make me look less weird (if that is at all possible for Eugene), I soaked in the sights of which unfolded before me.
I look down Oak, expecting Sam to appear from the direction of which I came, but when I turned around, I saw her approach from the hoopla of the market. She had her guitar slung over her back, a blue knit cap fastened to her head. She had joined the many musicians taking advantage of the people to earn a few bucks for their talent. After brief greetings and small talk of our previous week, we dive straight into the throngs of booths. Our first booth featured beautifully blown glass trinkets. Sam moves on quickly, but I, like a child at the zoo, wanted to linger and absorb all this booth as well as surrounding booths had to offer.
Sam and I milled through all the booths, not leaving one stone unturned. We studied the natural craftsmanship of the clay medium. We smelled the combination of scents emitting from the food area where different countries offered up their authentic dishes for the hungry. I saw wooden spoons, tie-dye underwear, ceramic mugs and dishes, kitted hats, crocheted duck and beaver hats for kids, mirrors, woven baskets, hair pins, soap, dessert candles with real sprinkles in them, and I saw King Louis (a crocheted, wingless owl I bought as my souvenir).
Just when I thought I had seen it all, Sam says to me, “do you want to check out the farmer’s market?” My experience was not over. We crossed 8th Street to an area filled with plants. I walked by an actual broccoli plant! Not to say I did not know broccoli was grown, I had just never seen the plant before. There were all types of tomatoes lined up that reminded me of my grandfather. I saw stalks of fresh garlic plants, just waiting to be bought. We made our way through the farmer’s market fairly quick. Sam made off-hand comments about the blooming lilies and we lingered at a rose petal dessert stand, sampling rose petal jam. It was sweet and tasted the way the flower smelled. I sampled blackberry jam and huckleberry jam
I purchased King Louis on our way out. After seeing it the first time, I decided it was too cute to not be mine. I plopped him into the empty backpack I brought along just in case. His simple design has the memories of my first taste of the Saturday Market forever attached to it.