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Saturday: I did not go rowing in the morning. Instead, S and I biked up to the Troy Farmer's Market, then toodled around on our bikes down towards Kinderhook Lake (where two rowing teammates live), then rode back up along Highway 9J* and home again, for a good 60-mile training ride.
Troy Farmer's Market: I swear, there were maybe a grand total of 5 actual farms selling produce, interspersed among 25 or 30 other kinds of vendors selling various value-added goods. The biggest sign of shark-jumping, to me, was the produce stand where everything was labeled as Superlative Produce: "Lovely Lettuce," "Charismatic Cucumbers," etc. Okay, maybe not so much "Charismatic Cucumbers," but you get my drift. I miss the down-home folks at the Phoenix and Bryan farmer's markets. Hopefully our corner church guy Farmer Market will reappear sometime soon.
The crowds were pretty thick in Troy, and there were some well-heeled folks among us commoners. I just sort of marvel at the socioeconomic happenings in New York, and the various forms of status signaling. I generally just status signal "Giant Bike Dork," heh. I have to wonder how many people are actually able to make use of the food stamp options available at markets like this one.
On the other hand, the Troy Bike Rescue (bike co-op) had a table up. So we were able to give them some stickers and get some cool stickers in return. I also issued a bike ticket but got called out because we didn't leave quickly enough. Oh well. One place also did have strawberries for $5 a quart, so we snagged two quarts.
Nobody had any rhubarb for sale!
My Saturday evening tiredness indicates that it's a very good thing we did that training ride.
Sunday was all grocery-shopping, then rowing-related administrivia, then somehow it was dinnertime and I still had all the (somewhat bruised) strawberries to process.
But! I figured something out. Flipping the strawberry huller tongs around so the gripper goes around my thumb worked much better than with the gripper around my index finger.
I got some rhubarb at the grocery store (crazy talk, I know), so we had strawberry-rhubarb cobbler for dessert. I love cobbler. We never had it growing up - my mom gravitates towards crisps instead. But cobbler is like strawberry shortcake without any extra fuss. Just drop the blobs of sticky dough on top of the fruit, shove it in the oven for 30 minutes, and dig in.
*I'm becoming convinced that every single highway in New York is called Highway 9__.
Troy Farmer's Market: I swear, there were maybe a grand total of 5 actual farms selling produce, interspersed among 25 or 30 other kinds of vendors selling various value-added goods. The biggest sign of shark-jumping, to me, was the produce stand where everything was labeled as Superlative Produce: "Lovely Lettuce," "Charismatic Cucumbers," etc. Okay, maybe not so much "Charismatic Cucumbers," but you get my drift. I miss the down-home folks at the Phoenix and Bryan farmer's markets. Hopefully our corner church guy Farmer Market will reappear sometime soon.
The crowds were pretty thick in Troy, and there were some well-heeled folks among us commoners. I just sort of marvel at the socioeconomic happenings in New York, and the various forms of status signaling. I generally just status signal "Giant Bike Dork," heh. I have to wonder how many people are actually able to make use of the food stamp options available at markets like this one.
On the other hand, the Troy Bike Rescue (bike co-op) had a table up. So we were able to give them some stickers and get some cool stickers in return. I also issued a bike ticket but got called out because we didn't leave quickly enough. Oh well. One place also did have strawberries for $5 a quart, so we snagged two quarts.
Nobody had any rhubarb for sale!
My Saturday evening tiredness indicates that it's a very good thing we did that training ride.
Sunday was all grocery-shopping, then rowing-related administrivia, then somehow it was dinnertime and I still had all the (somewhat bruised) strawberries to process.
But! I figured something out. Flipping the strawberry huller tongs around so the gripper goes around my thumb worked much better than with the gripper around my index finger.
I got some rhubarb at the grocery store (crazy talk, I know), so we had strawberry-rhubarb cobbler for dessert. I love cobbler. We never had it growing up - my mom gravitates towards crisps instead. But cobbler is like strawberry shortcake without any extra fuss. Just drop the blobs of sticky dough on top of the fruit, shove it in the oven for 30 minutes, and dig in.
*I'm becoming convinced that every single highway in New York is called Highway 9__.
