Farmers Market Update: Purple Mother’s Day

My mom’s favorite color was purple. And she didn’t just like it, she was obsessed with it. She had purple carpet, purple tupperware, purple contact lenses, you name it.

It drove me crazy, and for most of my life I avoided purchasing anything in purple–even though it’s the official color of my beloved LA Lakers (don’t hate).

I had already seen enough purple to last me a lifetime, I thought. How could I bear any more?

My mom died in 2003 from injuries sustained during a car wreck not far from her home in Southern California. It was just a few days after her 52nd birthday.

I was in Berkeley at the time, working as a research assistant in the same lab where I completed my honors thesis. The call from my dad came in the morning shortly after I got to work. I actually missed it, and had to call back.

The first news of the accident was delivered by a stranger, since my dad had already left the office by the time I got the message.

It was almost impossible for me to believe what I heard. My mom had a penchant for exaggerating everything. If she was hungry, it was because she “hadn’t eaten in days.” If she had a headache, it was certainly a “migraine.”

We all learned not to believe anything was as severe as she claimed it was, and the accident felt the same way. It couldn’t be that bad, I thought, it’s never that bad.

But it was. I only saw her alive once after that, and what I saw looked nothing like my mother. She was still soft and warm, but was otherwise unrecognizable to me.

My mom only knew me as a student and scientist. In 2003 I hadn’t yet discovered my passion for food, and I know she’d be baffled and delighted to hear I’ve learned to cook.

She had always been wonderful in the kitchen, and I was fortunate to grow up alongside her adventurous palate and organic ingredients—a remnant from her hippie years in the 60’s.

If my mom ever had the chance to see the San Francisco farmers market, she would be blown away by the intoxicating smells and gorgeous produce.

She would love the vibrant fruits, brilliant greens and, of course, the purple artichokes.

I know she would be proud of me for discovering this place and eating these wholesome foods.

Purple has a different effect on me now. I don’t love it, not like she did, but I cherish it as a gentle reminder of the things she loved and cared about.

When I see purple I am not reminded that she is gone, but that a part of her will always be with me.

Happy Mother’s Day