Our farmers’ market is finally getting going. The stinky man selling soap (the irony is almost too much!) is having to share booth space with vendors actually selling produce. The woman selling wool yarn has packed up her wares until the fall, but alas, the man selling treacly maple syrup will always be there. Last Saturday there were strawberries, in those adorable, frosty blue quart containers, the nubby cardboard working hard to contain the luscious berries.

Here in Connecticut there has been a lot of rain lately. A lot– you would think we were in Oregon. But last weekend there seemed to be a break in the weather. The sun peered through the clouds on Saturday morning, and it seemed as though everyone had the same idea. Brian and I used to live just down the street from the farmer’s market. We would roll out of bed, and head down to Wooster Square. But our new place is no longer a stone’s throw away, so we piled in the car, and headed to the Square.

I wasn’t expecting much, but the market was teeming with people, and there were even more vendors than the week before. Even my ladies were back! By “my ladies,” I mean a group of young women, some of whom look about high school age, who work at a farmstand with excellent and reasonably priced produce. They were set up at the end of the market, scales swinging, weighing bunches of collard greens and Japanese turnips. I always make a bee-line to them first. But as I was making my way to the end of the market, I stopped to look at these tall, spindly stalks with yellow blooms.

I was told they were rabe blossoms, from broccoli rabe plants. “And what do you do with them?” I asked. The ruddy faced balding man tore a clump of flowers from the stalk. “You eat them,” he said, offering me a blossom. I chewed. Flowers are always such fun to eat. I feel as though I’ve snuck into the garden, and I’m doing something that I shouldn’t. The flavor of these blossoms was subtle yet herbaceous, like a delicate broccoli rabe. “I just bring them home, eat some, and leave the flowers in a vase on the table– they’re sort of pretty too,” the vendor told me.

And that is exactly what I did. That weekend I made a chicken-bread salad and topped it with these lovelies. Then there was the scape and bok choy stir fry I made which had a springy floral garnish. The next day I made sandwiches with long-cooked broccoli sprinkled with the blossoms. It rained even more this week. But each day, as the stalks became more barren, the vase on the kitchen table gradually getting picked over, the arrangement on the table reminded me of the imminence of summertime. And it all became a little bit more bearable.