I don't know what else to call it. It doesn't have a name as far as I know. But it's only about a mile and a half from our house, and the prices are great. They have a really wide selection of veggies, and some fruits, so I've made it a Friday evening ritual to stop by and do my shopping for the week.
But on top of the fresh produce and great prices, I get to glimpse a little bit of rural France, something that I'll never tire of experiencing. Farm Lady stands behind her homemade counter, all the bounty of their harvest before her. She never stops smiling, and almost always throws a free bunch of basil or parsley on top of the rest of what you buy. She has lots of ideas on how to cook certain veggies, and if she sees a bruised zucchini or apple in your basket, she'll quickly whisk it away and replace it with a bigger and better one.
One thing that I love is that whenever she's running short on something, she just turns her head and yells, and I mean yells, "Baby, bring me some potatoes!". Out of nowhere, a little farmer appears, toting several bags of spuds, and his sweet wife (back to her normal voice) says, "Thank you baby."
Then there are the grandchildren. All ages, all sizes. Some are driving tractors, the littler ones run back and forth for granny, fetching cooked beets or more change from the farmhouse. And every time they bring something to the stand, they go to the apple crate, pick one up, take the butcher knife (seriously, the thing is as long as their arms) and cut out the core. Like it was a pocketknife! Then they're off, happily munching until granny shouts out another order.
Then I stuff it all in my trunk, bring it home and dump it all on my table, just to look at it before deciding what I'll do with it all in the next week. 
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