I can't remember whether my initial experiences with butchers came with my grandmother or my father. When I stayed with my grandmother for weeks at a time during the summer, she and I would walk to town, over to the "right side" of the tracks, to the farmer's market. We would buy vegetables not already growing in my Babci's garden, pot cheese, butter by the pound blocks, and then head next door to the butcher shop, which was indoors, adjacent to the outdoor market. I would survey all the meats behind the glass windows, and be impressed by the butcher's strict compliance with my grandmother's requests. Everything would go into our wire rolling cart, and we'd be on our way home.... With my father, I'd go for a short ride in the car to a butcher he knew from God knows where. "Ditty" would treat my Dad like a celebrity, talking with him the whole time he was cutting meat for other customers. I would get slices of cold cuts and leave the store happy, satisfied, and special. Ditty also had pickles in barrels (like my grandmother's farmer's market did) and I could choose anything I wanted from them. It was also at the butcher's that I discovered my love of paper. More on that tomorrow. -BF
from "Night & Day"
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Promenade to the Market
Art Print
, Selime
Buy at AllPosters.com
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