This bud's for you.

On Friday, Liberty, Jill and I fled the 'burbs at o'dark hundred for the sanctity of the San Francisco Flower Market. This Market is one of five grower-owned markets in the US. Liberty was so traumatized by the thought of our early rise time that she slept in her clothes.

It was easily 15 years since my last visit to the Flower Market. In my early 20s I worked in SOMA, a few blocks away, and my co-workers and I would occasionally go on Fridays around 9am for leftovers and breakfast.

Going into the catacombs with someone in the know is much different, much better. The Market is similar to Costco but with many different vendors. At this time of year many of the flowers come from South America. These people begin their workday at 1a so the Bay Area floral designers, event producers and florist shops can get in and out before the rest of the world needs their goods.

Liberty fell in love with these cockscombs, which I'd never seen before. We browsed the ostrich eggs, antlers, ribbons, bark, vases, baskets, candles, tissue paper and cellophane wrap. I could not resist buying tulips, roses and branches with tiny berries on them. We have so many flowers at home that even Fred is holding an arrangement. One of the growers gave Liberty some tiny white roses.

It's very special being there in the dark, in the musty, dank smelling space filled with treasures. I liked it less as the sun came up and it became just another sunny fall day in San Francisco. The Flower Market Cafe, where we had breakfast after loading our goodies into Jill's car, was as delicious as I remember. Liberty was very happy we made the trek. So was I.