The West Palm Beach Green Market opened today – October 6 – so Rob, Noah and I drove into town to see what was what.
It’s held in a large park across the street from the Intracoastal Waterway and vendors set up makeshift shelters and sell their wares. It’s a great, scenic spot and you can find everything from fruits and veggies to honey and orchids to donuts and sandwiches and doggie treats and beyond. The big challenge for the Green Market is that today it was 93 degrees in the shade and really, really humid. This humidity was extreme, the kind where snoozing two-year-olds in strollers have sweat glistening on their faces and dogs are panting like they may collapse from the heat in the next thirty seconds. No, it’s not July. It’s October. I don’t think there were too many global warming deniers in the crowd.
We got off to a late start and had trouble finding a parking space downtown. The public parking garage was full, so we drove into the next block and turned into a parking area where it looked as if every space was taken. We were behind a couple on foot who moved at a snail’s pace and carried an orchid. Both of us commented on how slow they were walking, but that turned out to be a bonus. They were actually parked in the lot and finally reached their car.
As soon as they pulled out, we pulled in (synchro! manifesting parking space) and I hurried over to the automatic ticket pole. It was just a buck for two hours. As soon as I saw the stamp on the ticket, I laughed. We had until 1:37. That number belongs to Wolfgang Pauli and haunted us on a February trip to Toronto, where we had gone to talk about Pauli for William Shatner’s Weird or What TV show. Hey, whatever happened to that episode?
I took it as a positive synchro sign. It was so hot in the market that the first thing we did was seek shade, then water and food. Because Noah is so tall for a golden retriever, with such gorgeous reddish golden fur, he got a lot of pats and free treats. The treats he welcomed, but the pats he did not. He was a rescue who spent his first 9 months in a crate. The owners hoped to use him as a stud, but went bankrupt. and had to give him up. He’s gotten much more social in the 3 years we’ve had him, but is still terrified of kids who are a fraction of his size.
The only booth where we bought something other than lunch was Bee Unique. The owner, a beekeeper, was fascinating. Rob asked him if it was true that honey bees were dying off. His response? Yes, in the wild. But not for beekeepers.
He maintains 14,000 hives. Each queen bee costs him between $13-15 and he spends about $250,000 a year just on queen bees. He had probably a dozen different types of raw honey, plus a raw honey cream. He employs 15 people, who harvest and bottle the honey on the property premise. Processed honey like what you buy in your local grocery store has zero health value. The heating process kills the essential ingredients. The health benefits of raw honey are impressive: lowers cholesterol, helps indigestion, enhances health or hair and skin, it’s an antioxidant, a cough suppressant, an antibiotic, antibacterial, and anti-inflammatory. We bought two types of honey, wildflower and tupelo, the latter comes only from the Apalachicola River area in northern Florida. Hm, wonder how Van Morrison found it.
We told the honey guy about the honey bees that recently nested under the eaves of our roof and somehow got into our house. We were finding dead honey bees next to our bedroom window. Rob finally sprayed the nest and felt bad for doing so, but these suckers needed to find some other spot for a hive. While we were relating the story, a woman strolled up and asked the owner if he knew of any beekeeper who would like to have a whole lot of honey bees.
“There are thousands nesting in a tree in my front yard. I need to get rid of them.”
Synchro with our honey bees.
The beekeeper rattled off a name and number and Rob and I looked at each other. During our honey bee infestation, it never even occurred to us to find a beekeeper to haul them off. So now, 137 doesn’t just symbolize the DNA of light or Pauli’s death number. For us, it has become the number for manifesting parking spaces and for discovering info about honey bees.
We finally left the market and crossed the street to look at the HUGE yachts that were moored. Here’s Triumphant Lady, palatial, larger than most homes, immune to rising oceans and just about everything else. Not a soul on board. A Jet Ski tied to the back of it.
“Trump?” I asked.
“Naw,” Rob said. “Some really wealthy writer.”
Yeah. Sure. He was kidding me. “King? Grisham?”
“Someone at Rowling’s level.”
The first billionaire writer. Okay, so there aren’t that many billionaires in the world, and it would have to be a billionaire who would own this. I did some research. This yacht is for sale, a real bargainat: $8,900,000.The owner appears to be Judge Judy.
Does any of this connect to 137? I have no idea. But I can’t wait to tell Rob who owns it. Judge Judy. Go figure.