KAT
Market Forces
Morning light filters through the pavilion canvas like honey through cheesecloth, painting everything in shades of gold and possibility. The Lexington Farmers Market sprawls before us—a small city built from ambition and fresh produce, the air thick with competing perfumes of baked bread, raw earth, and the particular sweetness of strawberries picked before dawn.
Our corner section gleams with Cheryl's organizational sorcery. Three days of Cumberland women working until their fingers cramped has transformed raw goods into displays worthy of any boutique. Mason jars catch light like trapped fireflies, their contents—jams, preserves, pickled vegetables—arranged in rainbow progressions that please the eye before the tongue.
"Strawberry honey on the left," Uncle Hiro dire
