“I thought this place would be closed in the winter,” a woman says, tucking her chin into her jacket. “Every market near me shuts down after fall.”
Her friend smiles and adjusts the tote bag on her shoulder. “Nope. This one stays open all year. If you think this is busy, wait until summer.”
Baltimore has been colder than usual for late February — the kind of cold that makes you pull your scarf higher, shove your hands deep into your pockets and walk a little faster to stay warm. But the 32nd Street Farmers Market doesn’t slow down. People still show up wrapped in layers, steam rising from cups of Zeke’s Coffee while others warm their hands around spiced chai. An accordion player’s music drifts between the stalls, adding something bright to the gray morning.
Clusters of Hopkins students weave through the crowd. Some walk with visiting family, others with friends and a few wander alone, getting to know the neighborhood they now call home. Many wear Hopkins hoodies: the unofficial uniform once the temperature drops.
The market looks different in winter. Tables that once overflowed with soft tomatoes and fragile berries now hold winter’s best. Thick heads of cabbage, dark green kale and apples rest in wooden crates. Winter produce doesn’t bruise easily. It’s sturdy. It lasts. These are the kinds of foods you leave on the counter until the fridge feels empty and you finally need to cook something.
Further down, another stand offers something made long before today. Jars of kimchi, sauerkraut and colorful bottles of kombucha line the table at Hex Ferments. A shopper picks up a jar of sauerkraut, turning it in their hands.
“Is this the kind that’s actually good for you?”
The vendor smiles. “Yup. No vinegar. Just salt and time.”
He explains that Hex Ferments started years ago in a Baltimore basement. What began as a small experiment in fermentation has grown into a business, with jars now appearing at markets across the city and even in Washington, D.C.
For generations, people preserved food to last through the winter. Before grocery stores and refrigeration, this was survival — a head of cabbage picked in the summer became sauerkraut for February. Even now, when fresh produce is available year-round, people return to these old methods.
Not just because they last, but because they taste like something fresh never can. Fermented vegetables have a deep, tangy bite that raw versions lack. Jams hold the memory of ripe fruit long after the trees are bare.
Shoppers fill their bags with a little of both: some fresh, some preserved. They walk away already picturing warm meals and cold mornings made better by whatever they brought home.
The market teaches people how to eat with the seasons. In the summer, you grab what looks good and eat it right away. In the winter, you slow down. You choose a cabbage because you know it will last all week. You buy sauerkraut because you know it will sit in the fridge until a stew needs something sharp and bright.
By late morning, the crowd starts to thin. Vendors pull crates closer together. Shoppers sip the last of their coffee, wrap their scarves tighter and head home with bags full of winter’s best.
Some picked today. Some were preserved months ago. All ready for the season.
The cold settles in, but the market stays.
