BY STEPHANIE WINSTON

My favorite day of any given week is Saturday . When I was a child , Saturday mornings were reserved for cleaning and then roller skating with my siblings and parents at The Skate Key in the Bronx . The skating I enjoyed , the cleaning not so much . Later , while my family and I were living on our homestead off the grid , we rested on Saturdays – although with three young children , this was often impossible . Now , Saturdays are my favorite day of the week because in the mornings I attend the farmers market in Alpine . I love the farmers markets for a variety of reasons , all of which point back to my love of two things : quilts and community .

Just as a quilt is woven of fabric patches to create a unified and comforting blanket , every farmers market I ’ ve ever been to intertwines the efforts of growers , crafters and customers into a rich tapestry of local commerce and community . I ’ ve been to farmers markets all over the country – in a few places , the world – and they ’ ve all been vibrant quilts of society , representing the diversity and unity of any and every community cohesive enough to have a farmers market . The Alpine farmers market is no exception .

My family and I fell in love with the market when we first began to visit Far West Texas . I vividly remember the first time we attended it on a trip out to Alpine from Houston . At the time , it was located just to the east of the Ritchie building . Being in a new space , I was nervous because I didn ’ t know what to expect . As is typically the case , my fears were unfounded .

As my husband and I explored the market one table at a time , I felt myself begin to relax . The farmers market was small , but I was pleasantly surprised to find an eclectic collection of vendors . On display was produce , art and jewelry of all kinds . There were people laughing and chatting . The atmosphere was jovial . Many things caught my eye , but I was especially taken by a woman who was educating the public about Kombucha . When I saw her , I felt a smile spread across my face .

For those in the know , kombucha can be exciting stuff . Fermentation is fascinating , but what really excited me its familiarity . It connected my story and life ’ s journey to this woman in a new place . Just as each scrap piece of fabric on a quilt tells a story , the presence of this kombucha stand reconnected me with my own backstory and to this woman . As we chatted , she shared how she started brewing kombucha , and I shared how I became interested in it . A few years earlier , I had graduated from the Natural Gourmet Institute for Health and Culinary Arts , a health supportive culinary school in the Chelsea area of Manhattan , New York . At the time , kombucha was all the rage , so I had learned how to brew it . By the end of our conversation , we had exchanged telephone numbers , and she offered to get me started with my own scoby if I ever came back to Alpine . From that Saturday morning on , I was hooked . That was seven years ago .

Fast forward to 2023 , I usually attend the farmers market as a vendor , but I always attend as a spectator . Every time I go to the market , there are a variety of “ patches ” to observe . If each vendor were a patch , there would be a patch for the mother selling pretzels , a patch for the man selling moringa trees , another for the woman selling gumbo , and one for the man selling my favorite variety of kale ( lacinato , in case you were wondering ). And what would a farmers market be without honey ? There would be a patch for the couple selling amber hued honey in jars warming in the sun . Each vendor and item sold has a story to tell .

Just as a quilt is made more beautiful by the diversity of its patches , the farmers market thrives on the variety of goods and services it offers . It is this variety that allows me to find many of the