One of my favorite places growing up as a child in Hicksville was the Farmer’s Market.

It meant time spent riding the carousel, mugging in the Fun House mirror, and watching “The Three Stooges” with my older sister. All while our parents would shop. It meant eating fresh grapes, chocolate pops, and cinnamon babka. All were surrounded by the sights and smells of fresh vegetables, sawdust, and barrels of pickles. It was an exotic place where you could meet neighbors and friends on a Friday night. A true suburban bazaar.

When I became older, it was the perfect place to meet up with friends or take a date. There was always something to see and folks to socialize with. There were the unique characters who were regulars there - the men in the fruit stands shouting out to the crowd, the glass blower, the tailor, the Electrolux salesman. The man who did paintings on velvet. The pet shop owner with puppies and kittens. At Eastertime, there would be chicks and bunnies. Everyone seemed to come to the Farmer’s Market at some point. And you never knew what you might find. I remember a friend, thinking he had come across fresh honeycomb for sale in a case, asked for a quarter pound. He said he liked to chew it raw. Luckily the salesman, a butcher, pointed out the “Honeycomb” was indeed Honeycomb Tripe. We all had a good laugh. You never knew what you might find there. It was truly unique.

Submitted Jun 09, 2023 by Susan Shuler Nolan