By Christie Ison of arfoodjobs.com

While traveling for work in Jonesboro last summer, I noticed a new, rather large open-air building for a farmers’ market right across the street from the Arkansas State University campus. Signage further elaborated that it was part of the university’s agriculture program, which I hadn’t really heard much about as a journalism student there some years ago.

The market was open. I had a few minutes, and I’m kind of a sucker for farmers’ markets. I dropped in for a look, camera (ahem, smartphone) and notebook in hand. I wasn’t especially in the market for produce, since I was traveling. I was, however, definitely in the market for a good story or two.

I walked slowly down the center aisle, like a bride looking for an appropriate tale to wed. I chatted a bit with a woman selling lovely candles in tiny jars. Locally made, well packaged; just not the story I wanted that day. A gentleman further down had lovely bouquets of flowers along with his seasonal squash and such. Beautiful and photogenic. Was this my story?

Rounding the other side of the wide aisle, I saw Tony Atchley. His stall was a little different from the rest, not as fancy or designed. A simple, hand-scrawled sign was duct-taped to the market table, listing prices for his wares. Mr. Atchley was bit older than the other vendors, 90 at the time. He leaned back in his folding chair, feeling the slight summer breeze while customers came by.

His produce was in lightweight, round wooden baskets like the ones my grandfather used to use while tending his own immense backyard garden, into which I would often help him harvest mustard greens or okra.

I asked Mr. Atchley about his stand, and I got pretty standard answers: Here we have some squash, some melons and cucumbers, and over here I’ve got some okra. Yes, he grew everything himself; it was good exercise and he enjoyed it. He lives in Lake City, about 30 miles due east of Jonesboro. He still drives and does most things for himself.

Prodded a bit further, he paused, and a different side seemed to open up. He told me about “when Momma and Daddy were alive,” helping them on their own large home garden. Growing was part of his history, his family. These fruits and vegetables were more than the fruit of his labor; they were his own past brought into the present.

I ended up taking a cantaloupe home. I also took with me some renewed memories of my own grandfather, who gardened until the day he passed at the age of 98. I was also reminded that just because I have a black thumb doesn’t mean I can’t dig around in the rich soil of people’s lives and learn a thing or two…and a bonus cantaloupe doesn’t hurt.

Christie Ison has been an intermittent food writer at her blog, Fancy Pants Foodie, since 2009. More recently, Ison launched arfoodjobs.com, an online job board and digital community for the state’s hospitality industry. She also teaches cooking classes and is on the advisory board of Pulaski Technical College Culinary Arts and Hospitality Management Institute, of which she is a graduate.