On a recent Saturday morning, the action at the downtown Santa Barbara Farmers Market is absolutely dizzying. A line of cars 13 deep stacks down the block waiting to park for this paradise of produce. The sidewalk swirls with shoppers, smiling children, signature-gathering liberals, and a man with snakes offering up photo opportunities next to a nearly full bike rack. Inside, hundreds of happy people casually make their way down aisle after aisle of plump tomatoes, glistening table grapes, sprouts, cucumbers, peaches, peppers, and cherries-the sound of guitar drifting across tuber rose-scented air. The full harvest moon of fall is but a few weeks away and the dozens of family farm stands that line the aisles are showing it well, each of them pregnant with the bounty of a season’s hard work. A man and his wife-both sporting the telltale contrived casual appearance of a couple on vacation-share a laugh and a love-filled smile as they approach Lane Farms’s stand at the far end of the market.