Kent’s Market is the only thing for miles down either side of Route 83. Rising from the midst of so much desert dirt and stubborn grass, it’s an oasis of greenery and color that makes your heart stop to see it. A small picket fence corrals in the plants and flowers and vegetable carts that threaten to overflow into the dusty and above it all the sign, painted to look that cracked and weathered.
Then the shrubbery and taller plants, hostas and hibiscus, a potted azalea or two. Old wooden workbenches line the fence, overflowing with baskets of apples and strawberries, tomatoes, green peppers, and at the back of the lot a tent stands tall, its canvas flapping in the hot breeze that blows when a car passes by. Behind the tent, a ways off to deter the shoppers who stop for fresh produce and
