A (mostly) true tale from the wild frontiers of the Farmers Market
It was a crisp Saturday morning when the mist rolled in across Patterson Reserve, curling around the gum trees and hanging low over the fruit stalls. The early birds were out, clutching keep cups and canvas bags, but all eyes soon turned to the horizon.
Through the fog, they appeared—two figures on a mission. Akubras cocked, boots dusty, and with expressions that said, “We’ve seen things… like rogue zucchinis and runaway dim sims.” Their names? We can’t say for sure. Some call them Ian and Rob. Others simply whisper: The Men from Boroondara.
No one knows where they came from. Some say they once rounded up a herd of heirloom tomatoes using nothing but a pair of tongs and sheer willpower. Others swear they chased off a marauding flock of bin chickens with a clipboard and a disapproving glare.
They strode through the stalls with purpose. Power cords were untangled. Gazebos were raised with the grace of ballet and the force of a cattle muster. A child dropped a pumpkin, and one of the men caught it mid-bounce without even spilling his coffee.
“Rain’s holding off,” one said.
“For now,” said the other, narrowing his eyes toward the clouds.
Were they volunteers? Were they legends? At Rotary Glenferrie, the line is always a little blurry. But one thing’s for certain: when the Boroondara Farmers Market needs wrangling, these blokes answer the call.
So next time you’re buying your organic kale or artisanal crumpets, tip your hat to the quiet heroes in Driza-bones. Because behind every great Rotary sausage sizzle… is a man who once faced a runaway wheel of brie and lived to tell the tale.