Originally broadcast on CHED Radio, Edmonton, Alberta, Canada in 1964

A little journey into the nostalgia today.  When I was a kid, I used to look forward to Saturday because that was the day my father took us to the market garden.  It was an exciting place full of all kinds of wonderful smells and sounds.  It was one of the biggest buildings in our city then, with what appeared to me to be miles of low counters stuffed with fresh vegetables, fruit, homemade candy, jars of preserves, boxes of honeycomb, flowers, both real and artificial, fresh killed turkeys and geese with their heads neatly wrapped in brown paper, and a thousand other things to tempt the shoppers. Behind each booth stood a contingent of farmers-turned-merchants.  The ladies were always huge and wore colorful scarves wrapped around their heads and the gentleman wore large mustaches curled up at the ends.  Most of these good souls were from Europe and as we passed by each stall, we'd here animated conversations in 20 different tongues.  The market garden was sort of a roofed-in year-round country fair, and to me it was always exciting and friendly.  I remember how we'd always take a walk through the parking area, where ancient trucks or teams of horses would be tied up awaiting completion of the days business inside. Alongside many of the wagons we'd find wooden boxes containing small puppies or kittens or live foul, and every week we begged father for a pup, and every week he'd say" maybe next Saturday".  The old market still stands in my town, but there is talk of tearing it down. Those wonderful merchants have been sort of crowded out and frankly, I think we're a little poorer for it.  The market always remind me, even as a kid, that we do indeed spring from the soil, live by it, and ultimately returned to it.  I'd be sorry to see it go.