The peaches are ripe. Red Havens and other varieties are flooding into the markets, begging to be touched, to be sniffed, to be squeezed . . . gently. We comply, picking up the warm fruit, feeling its give, anticipating what the flesh will taste like. The juice runs over our hands as the peach is peeled. More
Families roll out of bed on Saturday and head for the farmers’ market in Lincoln Park. The kids run while parents buy produce and pick up a plein air breakfast to eat on the lawn. It’s about as low-key as city life gets. I like the communal look of so many people quietly eating at once.