Tuesday is Market Day in Santa Barbara. Nazy and I both enjoy farmer’s markets. And, wondrously, the Santa Barbara event has something for each of us. Flowers for me. And: Nazy, generically incapable of walking past a tomato stand, loves the varieties on display.

“On display?” Nazy asked. “They are on $ALE.”

Somehow able to control my excitement, I scanned the nearby tables: “Brandywine, Trophy, Beefsteak, Zebra Cherry, Husky Gold,” I thought. “I wonder if they have Rutgers tomatoes?”

Flashback Carteret, NJ 1960

The backyard at 59 Sycamore Street, the family home in New Jersey, was not especially bountiful. To cope with the baby boom generation, the subdivision had been created by scrapping the topsoil into the Arthur Kill, a strait between New Jersey’s Chemical Coast and Staten Island. (In fact, from my 8th grade class room, I could see Carteret’s claim to fame: the second tallest smokestack in the world.)

When the snow melted, a sea of mud appeared. My Mom, who had grown up on a Nebraska Farm, wanted a garden. I was young and naive, but even I knew that it was hard to grow things without dirt. But we got topsoil, fertilizer, seeds and several young Rutgers tomato plants.

“Rutgers,” my Mom explained, “is the state university of New Jersey. They have developed these tomatoes especially for the New Jersey climate.”

End Flashback

Nazy, undamaged by such fearful childhood memories, continued to examine the extensive tomato selections.

“Look at all the different colors, Dan! Have you ever seen so many varieties of red?” She exclaimed.

“I remember that you got mad when I bought a ‘tomato-colored’ candle when you told me to get a red candle.”
“You were supposed to buy a Christmas-red candle, Dan.”

“Even your friends agreed that tomatoes are red.”

“Tomatoes are not just red; these are green, yellow, orange, striped, purple...”

“I wonder if Japanese beetles can tell the difference,” I replied.

Nazy at the Santa Barbara Beet Market

While Nazy was selecting tomatoes, I strolled to one of the flower stands that featured a mixture of cut-flowers and plants. I found a potted plant with hanging red flowers that would..

“... do well on a patio in partial sunshine,” the gardener watching the stand explained.

“Thanks,” I replied. “I want to move it to a larger pot.”

“Oh my..”

“Won’t it grow bigger in a larger pot?” I asked. Nazy would want a more decorative pot as well.

“Transplanting is stressful...”

“Just like moving house,” I thought.

“.. so make sure you give it Vitamin B.”

“Vitamin B?” I asked. “She sounds like my doctor,” I thought.

“It’s good for plant metabolism.”

“Should I just, eh, insert some B-complex capsules in the soil?”

She looked at me like I was a city-dwelling bumpkin. “Dissolve the vitamins in water.”

“Thanks,” I replied. “Should I make it exercise, too?” I thought.

Darius and Nazy at the Lebanon Banana Market

While I was discussing plant treatment, Nazy handed me a bag of tomatoes.

“It was a great deal, Dan. Just $2.50/pound.”

“How much per ton?” I asked as I looked for a forklift.

We had dinner this weekend with (new) friends. (I am always astonished at Nazy’s ability to find and make new friends.) Bill is a landscape architect - one of the premier landscape architects in the world. He was showing me the grounds which include several huge oak trees.

“How old would you estimate that tree to be?” I asked looking at a gigantic specimen.

“It’s at least 100 years old,” Bill replied.

“A tree like that marks stability and history. You can’t transplant something that big.”

“Actually, Dan. You can. But it is not cheap. I’m moving a tree that size to an estate in Florida. It cost $80,000 just for the barge.”

“Do you give it vitamin B?” I thought. “That sounds like something Larry Ellison would do,” I replied.

“He did sue his neighbors when their trees grew too big and blocked his view.”

The Istanbul Spice Market

The week wasn’t just about flowers, tomatoes and trees. We also tackled a major sartorial gap in my wardrobe.

“Your sneakers are falling apart,” Nazy noticed.

Aside: For our UK readers: Sneaker = Trainer. For our Dutch readers: Sneaker = Gympie.

“They look like you’ve been exercising in them.” Nazy continued.

Nazy directed me to a giant athletic emporium. There were more varieties of ‘sneaker’ than there were of tomato. The clerk wanted to know about my weight, blood pressure and training regime before making a suggestion. He handed me a preparatory questionnaire. While I was filling it out, he described the newest high-tech socks to Nazy. He explained the difference between gel and air supports. He extolled and finally made a choice.

“That wasn’t too hard,” I thought. “He just picked the most expensive pair.”

“Are those organic sneakers?” I asked/

“What?”

“We are in California,” I replied.

Nazy and Melika at the Zurich Flower Market