One Day More. This Week in Westerville. The Grape Report. Kirk Memorial At City Hall.
Eating My Way Through the Saturday Farmers’ Market: A Almost Farewell.
For several summers now, Saturday mornings have been more of a ritual than just an errand. I wake early, skip breakfast, tote my bag, heart and eyes open wide, and wander around the stalls of the Westerville Farmers Market.
I don't just purchase food; I gather moments. The ripeness of tomatoes, the tang of apple cider, the laughter of vendors. Each detail feels alive. The season's final burst feels bittersweet, and this Saturday, I stocked up, not just for meals, but to hold onto memories.
And next Saturday, I'll do it once more.
With autumn tugging at the edges of the day—the light thinning, the air growing cooler, the market feels different now. It's quieter. There's space between the booths where crowds once stood talking with neighbors and friends about their weekend or deciding which farmer's booth had the best strawberries or pickles or sourdough bread. The produce remains beautiful, but there's a certain weight to it. The tomatoes are softer and less perfect. The greens are darker and look more wild. Everything appears to be giving its last bit.
A few weeks ago, I made three different late-season salads, each one more rugged than the last. The first was heavy with chicken, bacon, blue cheese crumbles, and deep red heirlooms. Next, lighter options—cherry tomatoes and grilled chicken. The last, a complete meal in a bowl with chicken, Romano cheese, and thick-cut bacon. You could taste the change in season between the bites. As I wrote then, salad days are ending, but they end beautifully.
Knowing the market is nearly finished for the year, I shopped this Saturday with more intention than ever. I filled my bag not with breakfast and dinner, but with anchors for the months ahead. With pantry items that will pull me back when snow covers the sidewalks, and fresh basil is only a memory.
I chose soaps from the vendor who names his scents after characters, such as "Hipster" and "So Fresh." I stocked up on Westerville's Hometown Wing Rub, smoky and bold. I picked up espresso roast beans from The Coffee Mess that I'll ration like gold come February. Strawberry pepper jam for cheese boards. Apple cider vinegar to brighten up winter meals. Serrano hot sauce to shake onto scrambled eggs. And 1777 Datil Sauce, from a vendor whose husband once lived in St. Augustine, just a few miles from my hometown of Gainesville, Florida. We both went to UF, we discovered, standing there next to the hot sauce and vinegar peppers. I left the booth smiling. The world is vast, but these small moments remind you: it's also intimate, kind, and connected.
And then there was the pie. This summer, I tasted a pecan pie from Ohio Pies that stopped me in my tracks. It wasn't just good. It was familiar in a way I hadn't expected. Growing up, we had Drunken Aunt Vivian's Pecan Pie at every holiday. She was the kind of aunt who wore too much jewelry and told stories just a little too loud, and she insisted on adding a splash of whiskey to her pie filling. It gave the dessert warmth and a backbone. Her crust was buttery and crisp, her pecans toasted just right, and she guarded that recipe like a treasure.
The pie I tasted didn't have the bourbon, but it had the soul. It had the texture, the balance, the slow sweetness that coats your teeth and takes its time leaving. I brought a slice home, ate it in the quiet, and let it bring Aunt Vivian back for just a minute. That's the kind of power food can have, especially when it comes from a place like the market.
Over the years, Eating My Way Through the Saturday Farmers Market (EMWTTSFM) was never really just about the food. Yes, I wrote about recipes, produce, and preparation. I brought home corn, fruit, cucumbers, squash, greens, and sourdough bread. I made meals I was proud of, as well as some that didn't quite work out. But more than anything, I wrote about the people and the stories behind the food.
I remember the woman who sold me grape jelly and told me about her grandmother's grape arbor. About the vendor whose peach cobbler filling was so good I forgot I was supposed to share. About the tomato seller who gave me a lesson in ripeness I'll never forget about family dinners that came out of market shopping bags, and memories that started in cast-iron pans.
The market is full of these small, sacred things. A kid playing with a stick in the grass. A dog tied to a bench, waiting patiently. A couple dancing, yes, dancing, to the rhythm of the live band playing under the shade. It's a place where a simple errand becomes something else entirely.
And this past Saturday, as I lingered at the edge of the market, I remembered music rising from just beyond the tents. At Westerville South High School, the Westerville Civic Theater was rehearsing for Les Misérables. The songs drifted through my mind, across the lawn, blending with the scents of coffee, kettle corn, and cut herbs. One lyric caught in the air and stayed with me:
"I did not live until today.
How can I live when we are parted?
One day more—tomorrow you'll be worlds away,
And yet with you, my world has started."
It echoed exactly how this final stretch of market season feels. Not quite over, but already missed. Already meaningful. This small stretch of Saturdays has felt like its own kind of stage—where each week we returned to familiar characters, changing scenes, and tastes that came and went with the light. And now gone with the season.
Now, in my kitchen, I see the jars lined up like little sentinels of summer. The soap is in the shower. The rub is ready. The vinegar is on the counter with the serrano pepper sauce. The pie, long gone, lingers in taste and thought.
There's still one more market, next Saturday. One final chance to walk those stalls, grab another jar, shake one more hand, and lock in a time for fall and winter when the memories of the Saturday Market are still fresh. A chance to pack up flavor that will get you through to next spring, to tuck summer into your pantry, one jar at a time.
I'll be there, tote in hand. Browsing, chatting, savoring. Because this market isn't just about what's ripe, it's about what stays with you.
Thank you, Westerville Farmers Market. For every tomato, every ear of corn, each horseradish pickle, and all the stone-free peaches. Every smile. Every story. One more Saturday, then we carry it forward.
The Green Grape Report
Food Review by Gary Gardiner
Walmart - Schrock Road
Brand - Pristine green grapes from California.
Price: $1.47 per pound.
Appearance - Bright color with no flaws.
Size - At 9.5 grams per grape, these are about average for this time of year and for California. The average length, measured from ten grapes, is 34mm, with an average diameter of 21mm. Sugar content measures at 18%.
Crispiness - Crisp and very juicy.
Taste - Sweet with a very minor astringent aftertaste.
PLU Code - 4498
The Review
Shopped the minor triad late today with my final stop at Walmart. This may be the most convenient location to shop for grapes. Grapes are the first item on the left when you walk into the produce section just inside the front door. Travel time from the car to the grapes depends on where you find a parking spot. No distractions. However, the renovations to Walmart appear to be removing most of the self-checkout terminals and moving the remainder to the opposite end of the checkout area. Now have a longer walk to check out at fewer terminals.
The change does add more checkout clerks, appearing to be a doubling of the lanes. I have never counted the number of clerk terminals or the self-check terminals, but this is a radical change.
These grapes are Pristine, a registered trademark of Four Star Fruit, Inc. in California.
They are in a more visually enhanced plastic bag than the generic variety at Kroger and Meijer. Pristine’s have a gold seal and a broad black band across the top third. The visual trick makes the grapes more vibrant. I suspect that placing them in a generic bag would diminish their appeal.
I’m guessing that because Pristine is a property of Four Star Fruit and used as a branding device, it is why the bag is so much more attractive than others, and why it has so many descriptive phrases on the bag, including “No.1 Grade,” which I don’t remember on other bags. I’ll check next week.
The Pristine grape is marketed for its snappy texture and unique flavor that is described as starting with sweet vanilla and finishes with a zesty apple-like tartness which may explain the ending taste.
This premium grape, which also boasts a long shelf-life, is grown and marketed in the U.S. by Four Star Fruit, Inc., a family-operated, licensed grower based in Delano, California.
Kirk Memorial Draws Small Crowd
About 20 people gathered in front of City Hall on Sunday afternoon for a memorial to Charlie Kirk, whose funeral was taking place in Arizona at the same time.
The group gathered in the shade beneath trees planted in memory of two slain police officers flanking “The American Issue, a sculpture commemorating the city’s involvement in Prohibition.
The group opened with a prayer and spent most of the hour reflecting on Kirk’s life and the message he shared before his death. Two large posters of Kirk were planted on either side of the group. Some carried American flags. Others wore Christian t-shirts or carried crosses to emphasize a point while speaking. Others stood quietly, listening and nodding to the messages.
Several motorists honked, turning the group’s heads to see who was driving. Passersby glanced toward the group, whose discussion couldn’t be heard above the noise of the traffic. Two police officers on the sidewalk walked past the peaceful gathering twice.
Near the end of the memorial, Sarah Brown laid two bouquets of roses on a bench to signify death and rebirth through Jesus. One of the bouquets was of dead, dried roses. She said, “This for country and love of God.” She laid the flowers next to a Liquid Death water can with an American Flag in it.
The Westerville News is a reader-supported publication by Gary Gardiner, a lifelong journalist who believes hyper-local reporting is the future of news. This publication focuses exclusively on Westerville—its local news, influence on Central Ohio, and how surrounding areas shape the community.
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