To market, to market...

Just to be clear, it is not—it being the Saturday morning market in Waikanae, on the Kāpiti Coast—it is not quite the Hawke’s Bay’s Farmers Market in Hastings. And nor is it the Queen Victoria market in Melbourne. Nor even the Darling, what was that market in Europe, with the spices? Yes, you do…with the super yachts?

And it’s not A.A.Milne’s Market Square: Have you got a rabbit, 'cos I don't want lavender? Nor the rug bazaar, in Tunisia or wherever it was, that couple had a great story about. Nor the women, sitting cross-legged outside Burns Philp, in Apia, selling their baskets…

And yet it is: it is all of those places, distilled and dripped from a dropper, onto this corner of this park, near the pony club and the croquet club; next to the playground. Tūī top-gunning through the gums. Pōhutukawa carpet at Christmas.

Fresh veg, of course. And eggs, and honey. Cheese and charcuterie. Local olive oil. Sensational sourdough. When did you bake it? Oh, up all night. Figs and flowers.

Everything casts a shadow, so there must be jealousies: yes I know they were here first, but I need a better spot, and disputes: how many more flower stalls are they going to let in? And tribes: who does she think she is, Miss lah-de-dah in her Range Rover?

But we’re not aware of any of that: this is a happy place. Waikanae being Wellington’s retirement village, most of the shoppers are of a certain age: if a bus went by, they could ride it for free. Some of them used to be someone—wasn’t he the Treasury guy?—but they seem happier now, in their corduroys, recycling their egg cartons.

Happy, too, seem the stallholders with the offerings surely nobody wants: hand-knitted hamburgers, bits of old crockery, antique woodworking tools. For them, you have to assume, this is not a commercial venture, but something more: a passion, a purpose, a place to belong, people to chat with. A reason to be. Pack it all up and bring it back next week. See you then!

In the end, isn’t that why we’re all here? We don’t need the market: there are plenty of other places to procure our comestibles; just as fresh, just as good. But it feels different, being here. Since ancient times, in every society, all over the world, people have gathered at the market. And here we are today, continuing the tradition, sharing the experience.

Valuing another still point of the turning world.