Almanac Life: Another Saturday morning at the Barossa Farmers’ Market

 

Sheralee Menz and Marieka Ashmore, who call themselves Those Barossa Girls, are writing a book about the women who contributed recipes to the Barossa Cookery Book the story of which is fascinating. It was first published in 1917 to raise money for the war effort and a new edition was compiled in 1932, during The Depression. Over recent months, Sheralee has written numerous short biographical profiles of the women, but last week she took a break to describe her morning at the Barossa Farmers’ Market (which you must visit if you’re spending time in the Valley).

 

 

 

 

There’s lots of beautiful things about the Barossa Farmers’ Market, which sits among the vineyards at the bottom of the hill, on the way up to Angaston.  But it’s the procession of people I love.  From behind the stall in my job for Trevallie Orchard I get to see and meet them all.  And this morning was a particularly good one.

 

Jordan on the coffee station knows exactly how I like my coffee and, every Saturday morning, he makes me one first thing.  He delivers it to the stall. 7.15am.

 

Veggie shopping first, out the front in the market courtyard. I chatted to Julia while I was out there. She shops every week. Her husband is a retired dentist. They travel a lot. They are going away to Middleton next week.

 

Back into the shed, my first customer is always Chris. He collects a box of windfall fruit for his birds.  $2.  “Same again next week,” he says, as he hands over the gold coin.  And that’s all he ever says.

 

I loved that Matt, former chair of the Farmers’ Market and Yalumba colleague stopped to chat about the book that Marieka Ashmore and I are researching and writing.   He calls everyone Tiger.  “G’day Tiger. Any progress?”  I wasn’t sure what to say.

 

The book is always on my mind these days. It’s a book which profiles the local women who contributed recipes to the Barossa Cookery Book in 1917, and again for an updated version in 1932.  It’s part of a project, Those Barossa Girls, and not formally anything to do with my role at the orchard. But there’s a lot of cross-over. I often chat about both. Matt was super-early because he wanted to beat the 40-degree heat.  He was there with half the Barossa who were all thinking the same thing.

 

Then Alice called in. I haven’t seen her at the market for months. It was her husband’s birthday and her kids are back to childcare – she used some adult words to describe how happy she was about that. She bought apples and promised not to leave it so long between visits again.

 

I ducked up to the back of the shed to get bread from Bec and Martin at Mehl bakery. They need a bulk order of dried pears next week for the fruit bread, so we sorted that out, and I grabbed a loaf of fresh white sourdough. It’s to go with the homegrown tomatoes currently coming out of our veggie patch in prolific quantities. Bruschetta for breakfast tomorrow.

 

Then it was Ian, a hockey dad. His two sons play for Angaston. He buys apples every week. I asked him how his week had been and he couldn’t remember. He asked me not to ask him that question next week and that instead he would ask me.  He tries to guess the weight of the bag before I weigh it, and he’s never even close. Today he bought 2.3 kilos of apples. He guessed 3.1.

 

Kylie wandered past so I grabbed her and we chatted about her covering the stall for the next few weeks while I do Vintage. The orchard is owned by Yalumba, but I’m needed across in the winery to help co-ordinate incoming grapes for the annual harvest. It’s wine-making time in the Valley. Kylie’s keen to help out on the market stall so I messaged my boss to let him know.

 

Then the minister from St Aidan’s Anglican stopped to chat. He’s a colourful and eccentric character. He was wearing embroidered slippers this morning and a diamond solitaire ring on his pinky – very him.  He has such an expressive face. Someone really should paint him for the Archibald. I might suggest it to him.  He was drinking coffee with one eyebrow raised while we chatted about Alice Lunn, whose photo is in the church hall, and Gertie and Flo Juttner who were all part of the 1917 cookbook, and whether there was a minister at St Aidan’s in 1918 to deliver the telegram with the shocking news about Lu Schrader. Killed in Action, France.  He mentioned the box of records he has and how Church Office in Adelaide has a staff member who will be salivating to help with any historical research for our project. He was very keen on the idea of a cocktail party to launch our book.  I gave him my number and he promised to ring me.

 

As he walked away, Kirsty from Yalumba was waiting, so we talked about cocktail parties and how one of the women who helped with research for the Barossa Cookery Book project had a sherry party to celebrate her engagement. Kirsty loves sherry, so I’ve told her she’s in charge of recreating that little soiree. We have a standing joke about bananas, so that one got trotted out, and we discussed how we probably need some new material. She mentioned that Sally, who is a mutual friend, who also used to work at Yalumba, has an excess of peaches this season. My tree has none. So I messaged Sal who said I should come and get some. Straight after the market. Perfect.

 

Cait and her daughter stopped to buy apricots, and Robin, another stall-holder, stopped on his way past to tell us a joke. Cait and I looked at each other, not sure how this was going to go. Robin’s jokes can sometimes be questionable, but today’s was very funny. It was about onions. He walked off and Cait and I agreed that this week, he’d picked a winner.

 

Jim and Jamie, new Barossans, who come from Texas, are so warm and genuine. They visit every Saturday. Jamie baked me some chocolate chip biscuits, which she called cookies, and delivered them, fresh, for my breakfast. Jim wandered over and took one look at my new shirt:  ‘Obstinate and headstrong girl.’ A quote from Jane Austen. And said in his Texan drawl: “Well, ain’t that the truth!”

 

They’ve been to dinner at my place several times, so they asked about my daughter Callie, whose uni offers came out this week. She’ll be studying law, but in the meantime she’s doing a Vintage role with Yalumba.

 

The stream of regional visitors was steady – a husband and wife from Sydney who loved the dried fruit so much they bought about two kilos. They had three sticks of mettwurst under their arm. They will be going home to New South Wales with mettwurst and dried fruit. Perfect Barossa offerings.  But I hope they also take some wine.

 

Angela Heuzenroeder, who has written a PhD thesis on Barossa food culture (and its meaning and significance) popped in for a visit.  She rang me last week because she wanted bulk apricots for the nursing home where husband Peter is. They are making jam. Angie is collecting recipes from the residents for a nursing home cookbook.

 

Angie was really keen to hear about progress of our book project.  We made plans to catch up for coffee.  She was in a great mood and was all smiles about the developments and would love to help write an intro.

 

Sarah’s a regular. She’s pregnant with their third child, a girl, after two boys. The boys eat kilos of fruit every week, so she bought a big bag of apples, and the littlest, who today was wearing a t-shirt with echidnas on skateboards, wanted a huge bag of plums. So we sorted that out as well. I cut up a couple apples for the boys to eat while they shopped. Her husband usually shops with her, but he’s a winemaker, which means he’s doing Vintage. So Sarah will be solo for at least the next six weeks.  She’ll be back next Saturday. I’ll feed the boys fruit and she’ll be a little more pregnant.

 

Then Margaret, who stops by every week. Annie Ahrens, whose profile I wrote recently for the book project, was her mother-in-law. Margaret is a straight-shooter. She loves watching the tennis and doing jigsaw puzzles, but she hates the heat. She watered her garden this morning before coming to the market. She never buys anything, but she loves a chat. Listening to her complaining about grocery shopping is literally a fast forward to myself in about twenty years’ time. I see a lot of myself in her. And the feeling must be mutual. We certainly share the same sense of humour.

 

Margie from Bethany, who did one of our preserving workshops several years ago, is always preceded by her laughter. You can hear her coming.  It’s beautiful.  She has a girlfriend staying this week, a chef, and she wanted two boxes of apricots to do while her friend is here. So we laughed and chatted and arranged to meet at the orchard after the market. Margie bought me a second coffee.  Jordan didn’t make this one, but it was still pretty good.  Large skinny latte, half strength.

 

Gawler Hockey Club was doing the breakfast barbie this morning, so I quickly chatted to them while I ordered a bacon and egg roll for breakfast. My son Eamon’s hockey team is looking good this year, and Lisa (his coach) said she will get him out to pre-season training and run some attitude out of him.  Good luck.  But she has three teenage sons and she works in the RAAF. If anyone knows how to wrangle almost-adult boys, it’s her.

 

My boss, Marc, replied to my message. And I had to laugh.  He’s South African by heritage, and even when I read his text I hear his accent.  He’s a winemaker, and he closes every message with some simple advice: “Drink up.” This one was no exception.

 

Helen, who stops by every week, arrived for a chat. Her husband Bruce and I worked together on a Yalumba project last year. Helen is lovely.  She started back at exercise classes this week.

 

Marie Waechter, on the fruit and veg stall opposite is a bloody character, and such a gem.  Her husband, Mark, is seventh generation Barossa. They live on Waechter Road near Light Pass, in the same house Mark’s grandmother lived in. Marie has liquid gold in her veins. She’s a 2024 version of Minna Hoffmann from the 1917 cookbook. We are close friends. Her Grandson Mitchell is doing Vintage at Yalumba this year and was doing inductions with Callie this week. We chatted about that.  And lots of other stuff. Like usual.

 

Isabel, the market co-ordinator had to make space for an ambulance to collect a customer this morning. She wanted to know what she should do. The Market Manager had the day off, so as a Board member I’m default go-to. We sorted that out, then Marie wandered over and asked who I’d hit so hard they needed an ambulance.  I’m not sure if I should be flattered or horrified.

 

Elaine breezed through.  She’s the current Chair.  We talked about the latest grant we need to acquit, and I said that I would be MIA for board matters for the next few weeks while Vintage is on.  This is standard Barossa protocol.  Everything non-essential stops for Vintage.  Elaine’s been in the Barossa many years.  She knows exactly how it rolls.  Completely unfussed, she said she would cover the grant acquittal.

 

Julie called in and it was so bloody fabulous to see her.  She’s on her third round of chemo for cancer and this is her last-ditch option. Despite all of the weight loss and no hair, she’s still smiling and handing out hugs. Her daughter got engaged at Christmas time, so she’s saying she’s got to stay alive to see that through. She’s not wearing a covid mask. I guess she figures airborne germs are the least of her worries. She wandered off to buy an icecream.

 

The customers petered out as the heat picked up.  The market closes at 11.30am, and every week Jordan over on the coffee bar yells out: “Last call for coffee.”  Esther on the bagel stall usually follows with: “Last call for bagels”.  We all know it’s coming, but the last of the customers think it’s funny.

 

The stall-holders pack up and the shed falls quiet.

 

I met Margie at the orchard, and collected my peaches from Sal.  Now I’m home and the little old farm house among the stubble and the pines is empty and quiet. All my family are out, which is unusual.  And I should be writing about Nell Lindner from 1917.  But instead I’m thinking about communities.  And people.  And how this job connected me to so many incredible personalities, and plugged me directly into the essence and heartbeat of the Barossa.

 

And how next Saturday I will do it all again.

 

Visit the website of Those Barossa Girls HERE.

Or you can find them on Facebook.

 

 

 

 

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