The Morning I Took William to the Columbia Farmers Market
A few weeks ago, while drinking my usual Saturday morning coffee and flipping through the local section of the Columbia Missourian, a small headline caught my attention: “Columbia Farmers Market Reopens to Welcome Spring Vendors.”
It wasn’t a dramatic headline, it was tucked between community events and high school sports updates.
But it mentioned early strawberries, fresh asparagus, local honey, and live music to celebrate the new growing season.
Something about that small announcement stayed with me the entire day.
Winter had felt long this year. The backyard was just beginning to show hints of green again, and I wanted William to experience spring outside of grocery store fluorescent lights.
I wanted him to see where food actually comes from, to hear real conversations with farmers, and to feel that lively, open-air energy that only a farmers market carries.
So that Saturday, I decided we were going.
Driving to 1701 W. Ash Street
The Columbia Farmers Market is located at 1701 W. Ash Street, near the ARC Pavilion area, and opens at 8:00 a.m.
I’ve learned that going early makes the experience calmer and more enjoyable with a four-year-old. We left the house around 8:15 a.m., reusable canvas grocery bags folded neatly on the passenger seat.
The morning air felt crisp but comfortable, about 62 degrees, with soft sunlight stretching across the quiet roads.
William wore jeans, a light gray sweatshirt, and his favorite white sneakers that already show signs of playground wear. He carried one of the canvas bags in his lap and kept asking, “Is it open yet?”
As we pulled into the parking lot, I could see rows of white vendor tents lined up neatly under the open pavilion.
Cars were steadily arriving, but it wasn’t crowded yet. A few families with strollers were already walking toward the entrance, and I could hear faint guitar music drifting through the air.
William leaned forward and whispered, “It looks like a little city.”
First Impressions: Smells, Sounds, and Movement
The moment we stepped out of the car, I noticed the smell first. Fresh bread. Roasted coffee. Something slightly sweet and floral that I later realized was coming from a flower stand near the entrance.
The ARC Pavilion provided shade, but sunlight streamed through the open sides, creating bright patches across the concrete floor.
Vendors had arranged their tables carefully: wooden crates stacked with leafy greens, baskets filled with strawberries, handwritten chalkboard signs listing prices.
A local musician stood near the center playing acoustic guitar. His open case rested on the ground with a few dollar bills inside.
He sang softly, creating a warm background atmosphere without overwhelming conversation.
William held my hand tightly at first. His eyes moved constantly, trying to absorb everything at once.
The Strawberry Stand That Stopped Us
Our first stop was a booth selling early-season strawberries. They were smaller than supermarket berries but deep red and fragrant.
The vendor, a woman in her late forties wearing a denim apron and sunhat, smiled at William and asked if he wanted to try one. He nodded eagerly.
She handed him a berry that had likely been picked the day before. When he bit into it, juice dripped slightly onto his fingers.
“It tastes stronger,” he said with surprise.
She laughed and explained that strawberries harvested locally don’t travel long distances, so they keep more flavor.
We bought a full basket for $6. William insisted on carrying it himself, holding it carefully as if it were fragile treasure.
The Bread Tent With the Warm Loaves
The smell of fresh bread drew us toward another booth. Long wooden tables were covered with round sourdough loaves dusted lightly with flour. A chalkboard sign read: “Baked at 4:00 a.m.”
The vendor introduced herself as Claire and told us the rosemary sourdough was her most popular item. She sliced a small sample and handed it to us.
The crust was crisp, and the inside was warm and airy.
William studied the loaf and whispered, “It looks like a snowball.”
I bought one rosemary sourdough loaf for $8 and a smaller honey oat roll for William. He chose it because he liked the shiny top.
The Vegetable Conversation
One of my goals that morning was to help William connect food to its source. We stopped at a booth where carrots still had bright green tops attached.
The farmer, Mr. Turner, wore a straw hat and greeted William directly. “Did you know carrots grow underground?” he asked.
William looked genuinely shocked.
Mr. Turner pulled out his phone and showed him a photo of rows of carrot tops in the soil. He even let William hold one with dirt still lightly clinging to it.
We bought a small bundle for $4 and a handful of fresh asparagus for $5. William carried the carrots like a bouquet.
The Unexpected Popsicle Stop
About halfway through the market, we passed a booth selling homemade lemonade and fruit popsicles stored inside a small cooler freezer. William froze in place when he saw the pale pink strawberry lemonade popsicle displayed near the top.
It was only 9:10 a.m., and part of me hesitated. But then I reminded myself: this was about experience.
He chose the strawberry lemonade flavor for $3. We sat on a wooden bench near the musician while he ate it slowly, careful not to drip on his jeans.
I sipped a small $4 cup of locally roasted coffee and watched families move through the pavilion.
The Honey and Basil Purchase
Before leaving, we stopped at a honey vendor’s booth displaying jars in different shades of gold and amber.
The beekeeper explained the difference between wildflower honey and clover honey. I bought a small jar of wildflower honey for $9.
Finally, William spotted a small potted basil plant at a nearby stand. It was $5, sitting in a biodegradable container.
“Can we bring it home?” he asked. Then we did.
Driving Home With More Than Groceries
By the time we returned to the car, our total was around $38. Not inexpensive, but not unreasonable either.
And of course, the canvas bags were filled with strawberries, bread, carrots, asparagus, honey, and basil.
On the drive home, William asked if we could grow carrots. He asked how bees make honey. He asked if the bread lady wakes up every day at 4:00 a.m.
That morning became a lesson in food, patience, and community without me ever formally teaching.
When we got home, he helped wash the strawberries and carefully placed the basil plant on the kitchen windowsill.
“Now it lives with us,” he said.
Taking William to the Columbia Farmers Market was more than a shopping trip. It was an experience filled with smells, conversations, and small discoveries that no grocery aisle could replicate.
