Illustration by Alex Chen
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As I sat at my market stall, I pondered how in the exact same spot in the early 1800s, you could purchase venison from a local hunter, fresh fish from Lake Ontario and hay to feed your livestock.
I didn’t have any of those items on sale at Kingston Public Market – or anything remotely similar. I was there to promote my new novel.
“Selling books at a farmers’ market? What a ridiculous idea,” scoffed one friend.
Turns out he was wrong. Very wrong.
Kingston’s market has a rich history. Established in 1801, it is the oldest in Ontario, serving the community continuously for more than two centuries. When it started, butchers and farmers operated from poorly constructed wooden stalls, so ramshackle that the area was called “the market shambles.” On July 1, 1867, Canadian Confederation was proclaimed in the market square. It has always been a gathering point for people to socialize and catch up on the latest news and gossip.
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Of course, the vendors have changed. There are still farmers who get out of bed at 4 a.m. to load their trucks and get to the market in the early morning hours. Current sellers include a Canadian newcomer barbecuing Syrian-style corn and other delights. There are organic farmers and artists selling photographs.
Early on Saturday mornings, I arrive at my spot overlooking the British Whig building, where I had once happily toiled as a reporter and editor. Just like the market, it’s changed. The Whig-Standard’s handful of remaining employees all work from home and the paper that once proudly proclaimed to be Canada’s oldest daily now appears just four times a week. The British Whig building currently serves as an office for city employees.
At the market, I was given a hearty welcome by people at the adjacent stalls. One was an expert on growing succulent plants and was happy to share her knowledge with curious marketgoers. Another had beautiful handcrafted glass on display. She promised to buy The Admiral’s Daughter – as soon as she made enough sales to pay for my book. Sure enough, within an hour she was back at my stall to obtain a copy.
Market vendors embrace the spirit of co-operation, not competition. If a customer is looking for zucchini, everyone knows how to guide them. The spouses of some vendors hang around for the entire day, ready to watch the stand during the inevitable washroom breaks. At lunch, my neighbour complimented my use of chopsticks as I struggled to eat my Thai noodle lunch – I had forgotten to ask the takeout joint for a fork.
On this particular day, tourists and locals were flocking through the aisles. When they stopped to talk with me, people were fascinated by the fact that the book was based on the true story of my father moving from Canada to Washington to take a position with the British embassy in 1941. He handled top secret cables as Winston Churchill desperately begged the United States to join the war against Hitler.
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At the market, I had the chance to chat with visitors from across Canada, the U.S. and Europe. They told me their own stories of family members’ experiences in the war – one woman’s father served in Europe in an artillery unit from Newfoundland. People liked the fact that the book is partly set in Kingston, with the hockey-playing protagonist skating on Lake Ontario.
As it turns out, bookselling is not new at this market. In the 19th century, books were mostly published by local newspapers who wanted to keep their presses running after the papers were on the streets. The Kingston Gazette set up stalls adjacent to the market to hawk their books.
I’m simply following in the lead of another local author who has been offering his Viking-era novels for several years here. When I recently published my historical thriller, he kindly suggested that I rent a stall. It proved to be a fabulous idea.
Holding court at my stall during the summer and fall, I’m proud to be part of this tradition.
Doug Ronson lives in Kingston.