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Lessons from the Farmer’s Market

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Mindful eating invites us to consider more than how our food tastes. It’s also about taking the time to consider where, when and how our food comes to arrive at our door.  And what better place to learn these lessons, than at the many local famers markets that now bless so many of our lives.

This morning our local Farmer’s Market was showered with rain, insistent winds and 13˚C  temperatures. Yet the loyal farmers and the familiar faces of local producers still arrived. With their vibrant produce catching our attention, its so easy to remember to stop, ask and listen to their stories of what’s in season, how it’s grown and where it comes from.

Speaking to farmers, finding friends, experiencing the seasons and what they grow first hand is only the begining of what makes us turn up on the 3rd Saturday of every month. Today it was:

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Apples crisped by the cold mornings of our Central West neighbours in Bathurst.

Oranges fragrant,  plump and juicy from the water blessed Narromine.

Vegetables, shining with the knowledge of what is fresh, really fresh: Kale and celery at $2 a bunch

IMG_1149Finding things new that are delicious to eat:

Artisan cheese from happy goats dancing with their kids

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Finding new things that are delicious to drink: Raspberry and Mint Lemonade

Raspberry and Mint Lemonade

IMG_1184It is is predicted to be the coldest weekend of the year for us here in the Central West so we retreat home.

Inside we unpack the bounty of the morning’s harvest with its promise of vital, delicious and nourishing meals for the coming week.

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At last,  sharing our simple local fare by the log fire- goat fetta with pesto and freshly baked sourdough.

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Completed by the addition of a glass of regional red wine. But first, a mindful moment to remember our gratitude for the land and the food it produced. And for those who tended and nourished it, so it could tend and nourish us.

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Gazing out the window, down to the wind-blown trees on the river,  towards our hills unmoved by the weather and her interminable presence, we ask:
“Does life get any better than this?”
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