Saturday Market Can Be A Sacramental Experience. Cell Tower Removal On 3C.
Saturday at the Westerville Farmers Market: A Sacred Gathering in a New Sanctuary
Opinion by Gary Gardiner
It’s Saturday morning in Westerville, and something sacred is happening on South State Street. Faithful from across the city leave their homes early in the morning, wanting to arrive early. They walk through parking lots, crossing roadways when signaled it is safe, some carrying bags, anticipating finding the perfect sacramental supplement for their dinner tables. Soon, the community will gather for communion over fruits, vegetables, sourdough, and croissants, along with fresh-brewed coffee and kettle corn.
The Saturday Market is located in a parking lot sandwiched between COHatch, a coworking space, and an abandoned concrete block garage and storage area behind it, which has been repurposed into North High Brewing, a restaurant. With City Hall under construction, the farmers' market has relocated approximately half a mile south on State Street. Although it may not be the original setting, it works.
It’s a repurposed military armory transformed into new sacred ground. The backdrop now includes patio umbrellas, laptop screens behind tall windows, and the scent of brewing coffee mingling with the smell of summer herbs. Still, the market's spirit remains intact. The sanctuary has shifted, but the rites and rituals continue undisturbed.
Every religion tells stories of exile and return, of temples rebuilt after ruin. The Westerville market is in the midst of one such story. No stained glass or stately oaks are present, but people arrive, with canvas totes and coffee in hand, stepping onto familiar ground in a new form.
Vendors have quietly recreated their stalls with reverence. Pop-up tents have become altars of abundance. Hand-lettered signs flutter like banners. Herbs lie out like incense, sunflowers rise like stained-glass windows in the morning light, and fresh-baked bread rests like an offering on linen-covered tables. The parking lot has turned into a temple, built from memory and intention, made holy not by architecture but by what happens within.
The rituals continue, only the setting has changed. Early risers still make their pilgrimage before the heat arrives. They know which stall offers the best peaches and which baker always sells out first. The walk from parking to produce turns into a procession, slow and deliberate, filled with nods and greetings. Regulars greet each other like old friends at a church potluck.
Sampling remains a sacred ritual. A cherry tomato is offered, accepted, and savored. A sip of cold brew is accepted like communion. One vendor shares a slice of heirloom tomato, sun-warmed and sweet. It’s not just food; it’s fellowship. The quick conversations about ripeness or rainfall build a shared language of gratitude and presence.
Summer is at its peak, and the market pulses with activity. Tables overflow with tomatoes of every variety and shape, corn is stacked like golden candles, and cucumbers glisten in the sun. This is the Feast of Abundance, Westerville’s version of midsummer worship. Musicians perform in the corner while kids eat kettle corn by the fistful.
Beneath the joy lies a quiet understanding that this won’t last forever. The peaches are perfect now. The basil is fragrant today. Like any religious calendar, this season encourages us to cherish the moment. Shoppers whisper plans for preserving jams, pickles, and sauces, a modern ritual of stewardship, saving blessings for the colder months ahead.
Despite the lot’s transience, the market feels anchored. Each week becomes a liturgical act. A sacred rhythm of return, recognition, and renewal.
The vendors remain the keepers of the faith. They know your name, remembering you like a pastor recalls a prayer request. The tomato grower talks about the week’s weather, and the jam maker shares the story of the orchard. Each transaction carries a sermon on patience, process, gratitude, and abundance.
Regardless of location, communion happens, not with wine and wafers, but with sliced melon, sourdough loaves, and bouquets of zinnias. Shoppers leave with bags full of food but also something less tangible. The connection, peace, and joy of the experience. They’ll break that bread at home with family, turn those tomatoes into a Sunday sauce, or give a jar of jam to a neighbor. The market nourishes more than bodies. It nurtures community.
Even in this temporary space, there are moments of awe. A tomato so red it captivates, a zucchini the size of a forearm, and the perfect sunbeam illuminating a basket of cherries. People pause, smile, and remember to express gratitude. These are quiet hallelujahs.
In Westerville, the market becomes Sabbath. It’s not merely a shopping time. It’s a ritual of grounding before the week rushes back in. Some come after yoga, while others bring children still in pajamas, and others travel the bike path. It doesn’t matter. During these few hours, everyone slows down. Phones remain in pockets, eyes meet, and conversations flow. This parking lot-turned-sanctuary transforms into a space of reflection and restoration.
One day, perhaps next May, the renovations at City Hall will be complete, and the market will return to its original sanctuary. But something vital has occurred in this temporary place. The people of Westerville didn’t need stone steps or manicured lawns to keep the market sacred. They needed each other, farmers who showed up anyway, and neighbors who continued walking the ritual path from tent to table.
The sacred is not in the space. It’s in the gathering. And every Saturday, in the borrowed lot between a coworking space and a brewery, that sacred gathering continues.
Cell Tower Removal
Two technicians dangled from safety straps and cords attached to the cell tower they were removing on Friday on 3C Highway just south of I-270.
None of the crew, either on the steel tower or on the ground, knew how old the tower was, but knew that it was old enough to have once handled Nextel cellular traffic. Nextel was acquired by Sprint in 2005 and merged into Sprint in 2013, ultimately ending the service.
Sections of the tower are joined by a sleeve in the lower section that fits into the upper section, similar to the way a finger trap trick works. The weight of the upper section tightens the joint between the two pieces. That also provides some movement in the tower in high winds.
Removing the upper section involved using 30-ton bottle jacks with platforms attached to the tower to gradually lift the section. The process was supervised and assisted by a cable connected to an overhead crane. Once cleared, each section was loaded onto a truck for disposal.
Workers said the tower is not being replaced, although a newer tower is nearby just south of the intersection.
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.
Explore more hyper-local reporting by subscribing to The Hilliard Beacon, Civic Capacity, Marysville Matters, The Ohio Roundtable, Shelby News Reporter, This Week in Toledo, and Into the Morning by Krista Steele.
