The Pickle Man

We ventured out to a local farmers market for the first time the other weekend.  My husband was looking for some quality health food items that the local stores didn't really carry. 

One of the booths was called The Pickle Man.  There were a lot of people crammed inside the little store/booth.  A jolly man, aka The Pickle Man, handed over a large dill pickle wrapped in a white napkin already soaked with pickle juice to a young woman.

An entire booth devoted to pickles?  Seriously?


Inside we went. 

Emmy watched excitedly, staring at the pickles as they were scooped out of the barrels, placed into little plastic tubs and handed over into her daddy's hands.  She loves pickles.  She would eat an entire jar if we let her.

The Pickle Man asked if she could have one.  Would we be able to stop her since she was staring openly at the pickle he had already chosen and was ready to hand her?  Her arms were already stretching forward ready to accept it as soon as we said it was okay.

She bit into it enthusiastically and smiled.  And then the humming began.  Yep, it was good.  Really good.

He asked if Madison could have one. She watched everything from her seat in the stroller.  I said she could but warned that she probably wouldn't eat it.  He readily handed one over proclaiming she needed to try one.

I put it on her little tray.  She poked it, wrinkled her nose, and pushed it away.  Unlike her sister, she is not a fan of pickles.


Madison refused even a nibble.  Emily though didn't mind since it meant one more for her. 

Emily takes after me apparently.  My parents loved to tell the story of when my paternal grandmother had given us a jar of her homemade pickles during a visit to their home in VA.  When we got home, I had opened the pickles, ate them all, and proceeded to drink the pickle juice.  My response to the story was always, "...and you let me?  What if I had got sick?"  They even admitted that they were surprised that I hadn't.

Ewww.  Just thinking about it makes my stomach turn.  Needless to say, we rationed the pickles but Emily had about four of them even before we got home.  Luckily she doesn't seem to have a penchant for pickle juice.

We'd really be in a pickle if she did.