�鶹ӰԺ Farmers Market Musings

Anonymous — Mon, 07 Nov 2022 07:00:00 +0000

�鶹ӰԺ Farmers Market Musings Anonymous (not verified) Mon, 11/07/2022 - 00:00

Amanda McCraken

Hazel Dell, Abbondanza and Aspen Moon…

They may sound like mystical places in a children’s book, but they are the farms who take part in central �鶹ӰԺ’s weekly story. The farmers are the story’s characters, nourishing and transforming their customers by connecting them to their roots through local food.

“The farmers are an access point to this energy of agriculture because they have this connection with the soil and natural cycles,” said Brian Coppom, former executive director of the �鶹ӰԺ Farmers Market who now works for the Colorado Department of Agriculture. “We no longer really have those connections, but we get to participate in them.”

The �鶹ӰԺ Farmers Market started in 1975 when a couple of farmers gathered on the lawn in front of the courthouse when Pearl Street was still a through street. Twelve years later, farmers expanded and set up booths on 13th Street where, currently, over 150 vendors attract 10,000 people on a single day at peak season.

As a �鶹ӰԺ local for 19 years, I frequently visit the market. A walk through the market is like strolling through an art gallery: Rubin purple basil, edible Szechuan button flowers, golden amaranth seeds and lion’s mane mushrooms. It’s a feast for the eyes — nourishing the senses and priming the creative juices. What I love most are the diverse offerings made from local produce: spicy pickled beets, Anaheim pepper hot sauce and my favorite — strawberry jam ice cream.

These unique products ignite creativity in market customers, said Heather Morton Burtness, who grew up on Morton’s Orchards, one of Colorado’s first organic farms, and now continues the family business with her husband and three daughters.

“[Customers] are learning about food preservation and seeking out interesting recipes using local ingredients in new ways.”

It has always been a producers-only market — meaning farmers and ranchers can only sell produce they have grown on their own land. This approach creates an integrity and authenticity that cultivates a sense of safety in the community, allowing for more vulnerability, said Coppom.

The market is where I went on first dates to break the ice. It’s where I took CU international students who had never stepped foot on a farm. It’s where I brought my daughter on her second birthday to touch the pelts of animals she’d only ever seen in story books. The market is our connection to �鶹ӰԺ’s past, present and future.

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Photo courtesy �鶹ӰԺ County Farmers Market

The �鶹ӰԺ Farmers Market started in 1975. Currently, over 150 vendors attract 10,000 people on a single day at peak season.

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Trident Booksellers Was One CU Student’s Respite

Anonymous — Fri, 05 Nov 2021 06:00:00 +0000

Trident Booksellers Was One CU Student’s Respite Anonymous (not verified) Fri, 11/05/2021 - 00:00

Taylor Hirschberg

“Old God sure was in a good mood when he made this place.”

The Hunter S. Thompson quote often crossed my mind as I traversed �鶹ӰԺ’s streets and hiking trails during my CU student years. Living in the shadow of the Flatirons, at the nexus of the Great Plains and the Rocky Mountains, can make a person aspirational.

For some, including myself, �鶹ӰԺ’s true enchantments are found in the unique, nuanced spaces that provide a break from the hum of university life.

My respite was on west Pearl Street.

Trident Booksellers, my 1980s coffee chic space, was more than a place to study. It was a community. Entering the sometimes chaotic store, I knew I would find trusted baristas, an expert who knew the location of every single book, my third table on the left in the back and a mechanical pencil sharpener. Trident was a loyal friend and confidant — it was a space for me to recharge.

At Trident, I wrote a story for the cover of Out magazine on the forced displacement of the LGBTQI+ community and my thesis on climate grief in children. Usually my ideas flourished, but when writer’s block froze my creativity, a glance into the bookstore would stir my sociological imagination.

The baristas would yell, “Large iced latte!,” the phrase like a metronome regulating the flow of life and business. When COVID-19’s deadly assault consumed the world, the first thing I noticed missing was this metronome; I had taken it for granted. In the months that followed, I was locked away like the rest of the world, and the grocery store became my place of community. I craved my back table at Trident.

As the months rolled on, and I was quarantined in my Denver home far from �鶹ӰԺ, the semester came to an end — my final CU semester. It was then that I realized: The nuanced spaces held the most potent memories.

These memories — these cherished spaces and the hours spent on Pearl Street — I will always carry with me, because small spaces like Trident make up a large piece of my life.

At Columbia in New York City, where I’m living now, I’m seeking the same sounds and community.

I can picture it now: third table from the back, pencil sharpener, baristas.

“Large iced latte!”

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Photo by Trident Booksellers & Cafe

Forever Buff Taylor Hirschberg found community and solace on west Pearl Street.

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