Closer to the War Than I Usually Sit

As I worked this morning's sudoku puzzle on board the ferry, the man in the seat behind me asked if I wouldn't mind taking a picture of him and his son. As I framed their faces in the viewfinder, I asked the boy if he had the day off school. "I took him out today," the dad replied. "I'm being redeployed to Iraq in a couple of days." We chatted on and off for the balance of the ride, appreciating the day's sunny beauty (after yesterday's rain), and I learned a little bit more about him. He's a 21-year Navy veteran, in the reserves until "this" started; his mission is land-based, not ideal for a seaman; his son is a "clam chowder connoisseur," so Fisherman's Wharf was on the day's agenda, along with a cable car ride.

It's the closest I've come to the war in Iraq. I had a hard time choking back tears when we off-loaded. "It was nice meeting you," he said. "Be safe," was all I could manage.

I wrote an article for next week's newsletter, about roots (of course). Had to make a return trip to Mastrelli's (roast beef and provolone) because Wednesday's sandwich was so delicious. And I picked up a clementine at the Frog Hollow Farm store, and ate it while waiting for the return ferry.

Tomorrow is my last "Market to Table" day -- the Saturday chef's demonstrations. The program goes on hiatus after next weekend, until the beginning of February, and I'll be done with my internship by then. I won't be at the Root Festival -- I'll be on the opposite coast for a quick visit to the Big Apple. So tomorrow is my final opportunity to "shop" the market, receipt book in hand. We're expecting cold weather, so dress accordingly.