Almost every Saturday throughout the year, I make a trip to my farmers market. I go there to buy the local fruits, vegetables, and pasture-fed meat that make up our meals—the obvious nourishment we need to survive. But walking through the happy summer crowd last weekend, I realized I go there for deeper sustenance. First there is the sensual pleasure of so much color and form and scent and sound. Next there is the atmosphere: people are eager and curious, and they are usually taking their time, wandering with spouses and children, talking and smiling. Then there are the farmers themselves, the hard working producers of all this bounty. Many of them get up at 4 a.m. to drive into the city, yet they are relaxed and courteous. I've known some of them for years, and it's just natural to ask about health and family and exchange that most basic of human needs: connection. As I lug my bags back to the car, I realize that the produce may be heavy (99-cent peaches are hard to resist), but my heart is lighter. I am buoyed by the sense of belonging to a community, and this will sustain me for another week.