“Look, Mommy — a radish!”

I beam as my toddler excitedly points to the stack of pink-hued veggies on the table and correctly shouts the name.

It’s Saturday morning and we’re wandering between tents at the local Cherry Creek Farmers’ Market.

For years I’ve enjoyed frequenting markets around town. I’d saunter through comparing quality, chatting with vendors, and maybe taking a few moments to sit at one of the café tables, drinking in live music and fragrances of nearby baked goods being created right on site. It was spent enjoying a little time alone or catching up with a friend.

These days, the markets have become a learning exercise.

“How many plums do you see?” “What color are the onions?”

We spend this sunny Colorado morning counting beets, listing colors and differentiating between tomatoes and apples. It has become an opportunity to introduce my little sponge to the concept of whole foods as well as integrating basic learning in a fun and colorful environment, all the while allowing me to pick up locally grown produce for the upcoming week.

I ask him to choose four apricots and his eyes light up as he slowly counts out the fruit and gathers them into his little arms. I note a few faint bruises on the yellow flesh but dismiss them, knowing he’ll be much more excited to try something he has chosen himself.

However, he’s not the only one learning. In the past, I might have had a fleeting moment where I’d wonder about an item, but quickly move on to the ones I knew. With a toddler, an answer to all questions is fully expected.

“What’s this?” he asks, holding up a root I don’t recognize. I can’t even pretend to know, so we wait patiently for the attendant to help us out. We learn together it’s an unusually long rutabaga, although it looks nothing like the image I had in my mind’s eye. I purchase a bag full, along with tips on preparation, while my kiddo practices saying his new word to any and all passersby who will listen.

He circles through the fresh flowers tent and inhales, eyes closed and with an exaggerated whiff, making those nearby break into chuckles. Following his lead, I do my own exaggerated motion, marveling at just how aromatic the petunias are when enjoyed in this way. He enthusiastically announces he loves flowers before hopping back out to the main walkway.

We stop at every tent just to see what’s on the table. We stop to pet every puppy cooling down in a shady spot. We admire bicycles and guitars and  brightly colored umbrellas. If there’s a sample to be had, his little fingers grab one for the both of us, with him loudly proclaiming it’s the best ever.

In a world where he’s often surrounded by billboards teaching him how to identify fast food logos, the farmers’ market offers respite. He experiences food in its whole form, associating it with vibrant colors, tastes and scents, while I get to enjoy it through a fresh, childlike perspective.

Looking for a local market? Check out the National Farmers Market Association.