Readers' market memories

At 82, I still envision, smell and cherish memories of weekly trips to the Pike Place Market from Magnolia Bluff. I see my mother cranking the wheels of the Model A Ford into the curb so it wouldn't plunge down Virginia Street, and then we would start the morning rounds of the market. She had a favorite fruit man named Mr. Koutros.

She shopped carefully in those Depression years. Like others, I remember little battles at veggie stalls to get the good stuff on display, not the day-old stuff behind it. One farmer even slapped my mother's hand when she reached for a tomato she fancied. And I especially remember being terribly embarrassed when she haggled over prices.

Across the street in the Sanitary Market, a kindly butcher always reached over the counter to hand me and my sister a big homemade frankfurter, all the more delicious for being eaten raw on the spot. As an adult, I prowled the Market from top to bottom, loving the mysterious, musty smell of used clothing in the basement shops and enticed by the paint-pot colors in de Laurenti's open tubs. They didn't throw fish in those days, or sell crocheted thingies, but I have learned to accept that progress brings change.

I haven't been back for years, but am confident that the essence of the Pike Place Market will endure.

— Jo Ann, Shelton

In the summer of 1970 my brother lent me (his 17-year-old sister) 50 bucks to start a booth selling crocheted bathing suits, hats, scarves and belts at the Market. It was the year they opened up the old Flower Row area and let us hippie children place our crafts out there.

The bathing suits weren't very practical but they were a hit and I sold enough to keep my little enterprise going for the summer. It was the beginning of my independence from my parents.

... I rarely came back to Seattle (after moving to Duvall), since we found it too busy for us. Time has passed and I have moved back to the city and treasure those days we spent hawking our products at the Market. The smells, the freedom, the people from different backgrounds and places and all the tourists are imprinted in my memory forever.

— Robin Adams, West Seattle

I view the Market as a big part of my wonderful childhood. We would shop the market on Saturday mornings, coming from the Ravenna area of town. My dad would call out to many of the truck farmers by name and wave. He always wanted the produce that they kept behind the counter, I guess thinking they were saving the best. I would be embarrassed by this, but they seemed to like to play the game. I bought a tile for my family many years ago to keep those memories alive.

Since my family has passed on, it's my history now.

— Gail, Whidbey Island

My best friend Paula and I used to have a ritual. I would visit the Market pretty much every Saturday morning. I would drive to her house in West Seattle — wait for her because Paula is very rarely on time.

We would go to the Market, get our coffee and pastry from the Three Girls Bakery, sit and people-watch. It didn't matter what the weather was — it was always so good to just sit and watch people. I live in the UK now and I rely on my best friend to still go to the Market and tell me what she saw! Being so far away now makes me SO homesick for the Market (and Paula!). The Pike Place Market is HOME to me!

— Adriene, London

I fondly remember going to the market each day to get a fresh and delightful juice, or crêpe, or just wander about and gaze at the wonderful items in each stall.

One afternoon I was getting my juice as usual and from behind me someone was ordering some fresh fish. The boys were as lively as usual and shouting out the orders as they normally do. The person had asked for a whole salmon. Those of us who knew the market well waited knowing what would happen next.

You see, there are the guys behind the counter and there are the ones in front. The guy behind is the pitcher, the guy in front, of course, is the catcher. With an amused grin on my face, I slurped my juice and waited ... in the meantime, a silly person had parked their car right in front of Rachel (the big bronze pig). As the shouting continued, one very nice fresh salmon the size of your arm was tossed in abandonment from behind the counter to the fella on the other side who was "supposed" to catch it. I did say supposed to catch it, didn't I?

Anyway the fish evidently had different ideas and slid, very gracefully I might add, from the able catcher's hand and landed with a great thud on the windshield of the person's car, cracking it.

OK, it wasn't funny to the car owner, but those of us who are locals to Seattle snickered and looked away. I still retell this story as it was very funny. When the man came around the corner from getting his paper to find a very large fish stuck to the front of his car, he was a bit confused, I think, as to how exactly it arrived there.

I now live in Scotland but there is NO PLACE LIKE HOME!

— Kathryn, Scotland