Hunter Farm

My typical day – Cori Beckwith, age 44

I don’t have very typical days as I switch from “work days” to home days.  But I will pick an interesting day.

On Wednesdays, I get up at 4:45am to join my friends for a run up to the water tower in Arlington Heights.  Its a beautiful Boston view from up there.  After meeting the rest of my fellow lunatics at the local coffee shop, we set off on our run, chatting up a storm on the way.   Its as if the talking moves our feet.    When the steep parts of the hill comes, we often quiet down and pant during this stage.  Then when we get to the top, we give each other high-fives and set off down the hill back to the coffee shop for 10 more minutes of talking.

As I walk home from the coffee shop, Daniel and Adam meet me on their walk to the bus to school.  I give them each a kiss and a croissant, Daniel raspberry, Adam chocolate.

Then, I come home to shower and prepare any last minute beaded items for sale at the Arlington Farmers Market.  I stow my gear on the modified kid trailers (two of them) attached to the rear of my bike for the 1 mile commute.  I set up my tables under a honey locust tree at the uphill side of the market and spread out my wears on a couple of wool blankets.  I make beaded necklaces, bracelets, earrings, and have crocheted afgans, scarves and other things.

The other market vendors are eccentric and quirky but very entertaining.  There is the high-pitched speaking cookie lady and the tattooed tomato lady with a grudge and the elderly Egyptian lady selling hand-knitted scarves, the lady with paper-rolled beads, the Senagalese bakers, the chocolate vendor (mmm, just had to mention that one), the Greek man selling leather bags, the cheery apron lady.

The customers are also a great collection of characters; the lonely elderly gentleman who tells you about his career as a salesman without any provocation, the tall woman with the huge white furry dog (reminds me of a polar bear), the elderly lady who slowly climbs the hill in the parking lot and says (every week) “wow, what a hill”, the man who comes on his bike and puts on his squeaky breaks and comes to a full stop with his shoe, the Aztec man who asked if I smithed silver, the Walapi woman who asked about my jewelry, the Apache woman who asked if I could repair her beaded necklace for her daughter-in-laws wedding present.