On any given Saturday morning, the heartbeat of Davis can be found in Central Park. The Davis Farmers Market bustles with friends and families enjoying fresh food and cool air. Picnic blankets cover the grass, children run between booths, and vendors smile as they hand out samples of fruit and bread.
This spirit of gathering defines Davis. In a world where connection often happens through screens, Davis’s “third places” — cafés, shops, and markets — remain the town’s living rooms, where community life unfolds. As the city evolves after COVID-19, these spaces also reflect how Davis is learning to reconnect and rebuild its sense of togetherness.
Downtown is full of these third places: cozy cafés like Peet’s Coffee and Mishka’s Café, small businesses such as Boheme Clothing and Gifts and Sassafras Beauty, and, of course, the heart of it all — the Farmers Market. Each spot adds to the rhythm of daily life and reminds people that Davis is still, at its core, a shared space.
Eric Walker, a farmer who sells his produce at the Farmers Market with his brother, said the market is “all about the people, and self-built by the people.”
For Walker, the pandemic didn’t weaken the market; it revealed its importance. “It showed how vital local food and community really are,” he said. “It fills my heart, fills my purpose,” Walker added, describing the joy of seeing customers excited about buying food grown right here in Davis.
To him, Davis’s third places represent something bigger: “When we can work together for each other, everything is better for everybody.”
Across town, Danielle Crane, owner of Sassafras Beauty on Covell Boulevard, has seen a different side of neighborly life since COVID-19. Her store has had less foot traffic, and she’s noticed a change in how people interact. “Before, it was just easier,” Crane said. “Our customers were more interested in engaging.”
Now, she said, shoppers often have earbuds in and seem completely tuned out. Crane said it used to feel like people came in not just to shop, but to talk — having conversations about their day, their families, whatever was going on in town. It felt like a small family inside the store.
She’s noticed this same pattern beyond her shop, too. “If you drive by a bus stop, which used to be a place where maybe you’d meet somebody, every single person has their phone out, their earbuds in, and nobody’s talking to anyone else,” Crane said.
With these changes, “the community is kind of dispersed,” Crane said. She believes that to rebuild connection, Davis must focus on its residents, not just the student population. “I don’t even recognize Davis anymore,” Crane said.
Still, community efforts offer signs of renewal. Local art nights, neighborhood events, and student–resident collaborations are starting to bring people back into shared spaces. Crane said she hopes these kinds of efforts can help Davis rediscover its sense of closeness.
Davis has always been a small, tight-knit town, a place that balances the movement of students with the roots of longtime residents. Even as the city changes, its third places — from cafés to farmers markets — remain the glue holding it all together.
These small, human moments are what keep Davis connected. They remind us that connection doesn’t live in screens — it lives in shared spaces, in simple acts, and in the choice to look up and say hello.
The Farmers Market winds down, but the feeling lingers — conversations, laughter, and the smell of fresh bread. In a world that’s always rushing and scrolling, Davis’s third places remind us that connection still begins the old-fashioned way: in person, face to face, over something simple and shared.
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