“Can I pet your dog?”

Saturday mornings with family include pancakes, bacon, hash browns, dogs, pretzel bites, lemonade, and freeze-dried candy. Did I mention lots of dogs? Coffee. And the Cape Riverfront Market, or as my kids like to call it, Farmer’s Market.

The Cape Riverfront Market opens every Saturday morning at eight AM sharp, beginning May 2, 2026. Bella, Joey, and I found ourselves there most Saturdays. Not every Saturday. But quite a few of them throughout the season. When there weren’t other commitments, like haircuts, grocery shopping, or vacation-like outings for the day. Or that kind of tired that makes leaving the house feel like an Indiana Jones archaeological expedition. We’d load up and head down to Spanish Street, just the three of us, and do the Class family thing. That’s what happens when you find a place and one thing that fits your family. Farmer’s Market. It was our thing.

Joey, my oldest, would keep us within eyesight, at least a few steps behind us. That’s his thing. He’d walk a half-step behind, hands in his pockets. He kept a visual catalog of the crowd the way introverts do. Measure. Calculate. Decide. Are you worth my emotional energy or not? He didn’t need to talk to anyone. The freeze-dried candy vendor understood this perfectly. Money exchanged, and the bag received. Transaction complete. Joey happy. Then he’d spot someone from school across the Market. His hands would come out of his pockets, and his voice would rise in pitch. For ten minutes, he’d be the most social person on Spanish Street. Then, like the freeze-dried candy itself, it would dissolve the moment it hits your tongue — there one second, gone the next — and he’d drift back to his half-step behind, silent like before. That was fine too. Bella was more extroverted, talking to anyone who would listen.

Bella never waits for permission. Dogs. That was her thing. Every dog. The massive pit bulls, the tiny chihuahuas, the ones struggling to escape their owner to be petted by the girl with the rainbow-streaked hair. And even the ones who were too old to move without assistance. She’d run to the dogs, giddy with an excitement most people spend their whole lives working to manufacture. Some owners lit up, happy to share their pet. A few tensed up, unsure how their baby would react to such excitement. Bella? She doesn’t track the difference either way. The dog? It wanted her attention. Her hand was right there, ready to scratch ears, snout, or tail. It made no difference to her. The rest? It was all details. When she’d finally had her fill — which took a while — we’d make our way over to the lemonade stand, her pretzel bites in hand, still buzzing from whatever dog had just changed her life for four minutes on a Saturday morning. Her smile was worth whatever cash I had in my pocket. That’s the thing about being on the spectrum. It gives both kids a kind of social flexibility most people mistake for something else. What exactly? I’m not sure. Joey’s quiet looks like disinterest. Until it’s not. Bella’s directness looks like obliviousness or spaciness, until you realize she’s simply decided that a dog who wants to be petted shouldn’t have to wait on social convention to make it happen. Not every adult at the Market understood this. But enough did. And on Spanish Street on a Saturday morning? Enough turns out to be sufficient. At least for the two of them.

May 2, and the Market opens. Tomorrow, 8 o’clock sharp. I’m thinking about going back to the vendors Joey and Bella befriended. I’m starting to think about what it means that a place can hold a season of your life, waiting patiently for you to return. Those same vendors, the freeze-dried candies, the lemonade stand, and the pretzel bites will be there. Probably new ones. The dogs will definitely be there, and Spanish Street in the morning will smell like coffee, fresh cut flowers, and whatever the German Cook has on the grill. I don’t know if Joey will spot anyone he knows. Maybe he’s too old for Farmer’s Market. He’s twenty now, his people scattered to the four corners of the Earth. He’s not come for a few years now. I know Bella will ask before she pets any dogs. She’s seventeen. Some things? They don’t change, no matter how old you get. I know we’re probably going. That’s usually just enough.

That’s the special thing about Old Town Cape, Inc. This small nonprofit is the reason the Market exists. Most people in the Cape Girardeau community benefit from the Market without realizing what they do or why. For twenty-five years, they’ve kept the Market running, the Holiday lights on Broadway lit, summer concerts free, and the downtown area alive with life. They do all of it with five full-time staff, a few hundred volunteers, and a stubborn love for a small town in Missouri that doesn’t show up on a balance sheet. They’re at a crossroads right now. Their longtime leader just moved on. The Executive Director position is open. But the Market opens tomorrow anyway, because that’s what Old Town Cape does — it shows up. If you’ve ever spent a Saturday morning on Spanish Street, you already know why that matters. If you want to help and make sure it keeps happening, you need to start at downtowncapegirardeau.com.

The Cape Riverfront Market runs every Saturday, May through October, at 35 S. Spanish Street in downtown Cape Girardeau.