Back to the market I went. A couple hours had passed, but I got a "Back again?" from the man who sells the colorful mums. Went to the stand where I'd bought the eggs... had they seen the eggs I'd lost between there and home? The farmer there said, no, they hadn't... what size had I lost? I said the larger one, and he looked in his cooler and pulled out another. I moved to pay -- but he said, no, I didn't have to. I thought that was strange!
"Well, now if I didn't leave them here, I should pay for these," I said.
"The chickens will replace them!" came the answer.
Well! I thought of protesting some more, but instead I left with the eggs, feeling a bit sheepish.
It turns out I didn't need to take the eggs after all. When I asked the farmer at the next stand if he'd seen any eggs, he turned around and pulled them off his truck. I returned the gift-eggs. "Ah, you found them!" Yes. Apparently I need to be more careful as I shuffle my purchases from my hands into my tote bags.
The whole thing reminds me of one of my first days in York, when the man at the corner store gave me a mango on credit, and the first time someone in the farmer's market there offered to let me take my fruit and pay another day. Each time, I was a bit shocked: someone trusts me? Someone cares about me? The people at the market here don't even know my name.