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To market, to market …

Every so often my mind takes nostalgic trips to my past, and I recently revisited memories of my grandparents who had a stand at the St. Lawrence Market in Toronto for many years. When I was young, The Market was a mysterious, far-away place where truckloads of produce, loaded up the evening before, magically disappeared each Saturday.

When I was seven or eight, granny said I was old enough to join them as a special treat from time to time. In those days, the north market was a vast building with soaring ceilings and drafts everywhere. In cooler weather, Granny kept a little kerosene stove behind their stand for warmth, and I’m happy to now have that little heater.

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