Starting Over Without Starting From Scratch: What I’ve Learned From Watching Vendors Hustle Every Week

When I closed my retail bakery and started selling at farmers markets, it felt like starting over—without quite being a beginner. I already had recipes, branding, loyal customers, and plenty of experience running a food business. What I didn’t have anymore was the structure (and grind) of retail life. And that shift cracked something open. You guys, I NEED structure. I thrive on structure and routine….that I put in place. I don't really enjoy following the structure others put in place (can we say “born to be self employed”?).

At the markets, I’m surrounded by people in all stages of their small business journey. Some are figuring out how to weigh down a pop-up tent so it doesn’t fly away in a summer storm (that someone is me). Some have branded signs, rolling carts, matching tablecloths, and more systems than the average retail shop. Some are still learning how to talk about what they sell, and others could sell you a rock and make you feel lucky to have it. SO not me- my pitch is very much “Do you want this or not? It's good.”

Watching all of that—week after week—has been quietly transformative.

There’s a spark in the early days of building something. It’s equal parts chaos and adrenaline, with a healthy dose of self-doubt. I see it in new vendors every week: wondering if anyone will stop by, hoping their first customer isn’t also their last. It reminds me of what it was like in the early days of my bakery, before there were expectations or regulars or routines. Just raw hope and caffeine. There is definitely still caffeine. So much caffeine that I'm buying from different coffee vendors at different markets every week. (Feel free to judge- I drink it hot in every scenario including outside in the heat. Total psycho.)

And the best part? That energy is contagious.

Then there are the seasoned vendors—the ones who roll up with confidence and get their booth set up in 12 minutes flat. I actually get mad at them in my head for lollygagging, but they always make it work. They know everyone. They help the new folks. They bring extra tent weights and lend out tape like it’s currency (wait, that's me again. Always prepared).

These vendors remind me that you don’t have to burn out just because you’ve been doing this a long time. You just might need to shift where and how you do it.

I didn’t realize how much I’d lost my love for my business until I was standing behind a market booth again, watching someone walk up for the first time, asking, “Wait—this is gluten-free?” The thrill of someone discovering your work never gets old. And being around people who are still in love with their own businesses helped me fall back in love with mine. Honestly? I thought I hated my business after Covid, but I was deep in to the burnout. It took me an entire year to snap out of that funk.

Retail had started to feel like a machine I couldn’t turn off. Markets feel more like a conversation I actually want to have. Sometimes I even think about lollygagging and then I remember that you can't really change your personality.

People sometimes think leaving a storefront means I failed or gave up. They even give me the look as if I failed or gave up. And there are still a bunch of people showing up to the booth and begging me to have another storefront, (Sure, do you have 200k in the bank to help me out?)

But what I really did was hit reset. I kept the business, dropped the burnout, and picked up a folding table. Every week, I show up alongside a bunch of other people who are figuring it out as they go (making ALL the same mistakes I did when I started). And every week, I feel a little more connected—not just to customers or community, but to the reason I started all of this in the first place.

This isn’t my first time around. But thanks to these vendors, this new season of business feels just as full of possibility as the first one—maybe even more.

It's like going back to highschool as an adult who knows better.