One thing that has become clear to me as I’ve walked the aisles and talked to people over the last few weeks is how much the Market is a second home to many. When I’m there in the late afternoon, I often see the same handful of folks, sitting at the same tables, comfortable in space that has become theirs through repetition and familiarity.

As I walk, I peak into the back areas of stalls, looking to catch the stirfry cook engaged in a private moment or the glimpse the woman who is waiting for her boyfriend to finish making sandwiches so they can walk home together.

Last Friday afternoon, I wandered past the Cookbook Stall and caught a glimpse of a young family sitting on the floor. They were tucked behind the waist high bookshelf, two young parents playing with their baby. I figured that one of them worked there and that the partner had come in a little early to pick them up. The Market was really quiet that afternoon, so they were taking the opportunity to enjoy one another and let the time pass until it was time to go home.

I walked by a couple of times, not wanting to give the impression that I was invading their privacy, but still wanting to witness this little bubble of contentment and family space that they had created on the floor of a stall in a normally bustling public area. I had my camera in my hand but I didn’t take a picture, because I didn’t think it was fair to intrude on them in that way.

I had lunch with Eric Vincent this week, a local music producer who introduced me to an amazing sandwich and who, back in the day, spent some time working a grill at a couple of different stands. He talked about how, in many respects, he grew up in the Market. It was his first job in Center City, but he seems to have been shaped by the attitude of acceptance and respect that was the rule in those days. He said that working at Reading Terminal was a lot like being part of a family. Nobody let you get away with anything, but in the end, they always had your back.