Get used to it. "Meet you at the market!" is no doubt going to be heard on Tuesdays from now until fall.

Last Tuesday, under crystal clear blue skies, the mayor rung the bell at precisely 3 p.m. and you could rub a rhubarb by 3:01.

Tuesday’s throngs could choose from local farmers in 12 tents and mingle with hundreds of neighbors and friends, whilst a country band serenaded among the squash.

And I learned that blackberries have a dual meaning at a farmers market in 2007. You could be gazing at fruit (all kinds!) and still check your e-mail.

Our proud Market Master, Pat Coluzzi is indeed the master of the machinations that come with an opening. Cool as a cucumber—she made sure the tents were pitched, the bag piper, Henry DeWitt, was there early, and Mayor Sam Cooper was there on time.

Kelli Steele, who proudly made the transition from Communications Director for the Governor to her duties at the Department of Agriculture is beaming and blackberry-ing as she helps the state establish a whole new set of farmers markets. She quickly and proudly points to the sign "Grown Fresh with Care in Delaware!"

And growing with care is evidently a smart thing to do. Just ask Andy Meddick, owner of Good For You Natural Market in Lewes. He and his partner, Tom McGlone, picked and displayed 10 lbs of spinach that morning and it was gone in 15 minutes. It seems that with the recent spinach scare…one just needs to put the words "care" (and Delaware)…and people will literally eat it up.

Kelly Freeman is a member of the third generation of Freeman Farms, a 100 year establishment that moved into growing fresh fruits and vegetables 20 years ago—and her strawberries were the talk of the town. I completely avoided the vendor with "I’m redneck proud" on their bumper—no sense playing my fruit card at the fruit stand with someone who is redneck proud.

You may have caught it last week—Rich Barnett sniffed out quite the story of Rehoboth smells, especially on the boardwalk. Well step back off the boardwalk about a mile to Grove Park, Rich. There’s a new olfactory kid on the block—and it’s the Farmers Market.

What a way to while away the hours. As if you needed another reason to covet the beach life. Day trippers are already envious of weekenders. Weekenders are envious of weeklies who are envious of monthlies who are envious of summer shares. Everyone is envious of the year ‘rounders. So add the Tuesday Farmers Market to the list of whys. Another Rehoboth milestone was reached. And trust me, you want to call in sick with a Tuesday toothache and hang out.

Later in the day, I stationed myself near the exit to find out what people were cooking differently now that they had this incredibly delectable resource at their fingertips. Mable was headed home with stir fry, Cookie with the chicken cacciatore, Linda and Rick with herbed salad and a jack cheese, Cecelia with cheese and strawberries and an anniversary dinner to plan, and Commissioner Gossett with strawberries and rhubarb for a pie (can you say "overachiever"—it’s a freakin’ school night!).

The singer in the band proudly proclaimed "Here’s one that will have you crying in your strawberries!" Fully expecting a Patsy Cline rendition, instead the threesome sang a little diddy about waiting for the midnight angel. It was only 6 p.m.

As the roving reporter who witnessed the community come together so beautifully on this spectacular weekday, I proposed naming this article "Tuesday Meld." But the feature editor decided that everyone on North Shore would "get it" and no one on Poodle would. (I pictured us out there on Poodle with a huge overhead showing photos of Tuesday Weld and explaining…"she’s a rather campy little blonde thing from the 60s…"

Then I proposed the title "Tuesday’s with Mangoes" and our perfect and precise Market Master wouldn’t let us use the name of a fruit that wasn’t’ indigenous to the state. We compromised on Tuesdays with Melons—with a tip of the hat to Morrie, of course.

After hours with a splendiferous cornucopia of fruits and vegetables, it was time for nuts. The Republican debate was on at 7 p.m. Suffice to say that after a wonderful afternoon with friends and fruits (often the same entities) these nuts in neckties sure dampened my spirits. Just days earlier, all of the Dems in the race came to our defense (as in department of…) But not these guys. No, the Grand Old Pontificators bashed us as usual. Even the one that is supposedly "too liberal" on social issues said he would continue to ban open homosexuals from service. So here’s the question to Mayor Giuliani—"Did you tell the two hunks with whom you once bunked that you sold them out to General Peter Pace?"

Tutti Frutti, Oh Rudy! Heaven help us if ANY of these morons get in. My clock with Bush’s Last Day says we have 591 days and 17 hours left.

But there’s only 3 days and 13 hours until the next Farmers Market! Did I mention it was on Tuesdays? And that people meld—which is why we almost called the article…