You might have known him — Harvey. An inconspicuous man unless you happened to do your grocery shopping at Foster’s Supermarket in Greenfield. If you shopped at Foster’s, he was there watching over the fruits and vegetables. His particular domain.

He’d see you poking around and sidle over, “the eggplants are good,” he’d say, holding one or two for you to inspect. “Great with a little oil,” he’d say too, already imagining you’ve taken them home for dinner. And somehow you’d find yourself buying the eggplants, though they weren’t on your list, and cooking them up with a drizzle of oil. And like Harvey said, they were really good.

Now and then, he liked to give advice not because of self-importance but because well, don’t know, he just did. Sometimes he would bring back a few new kinds of produce from the Boston markets where he went to each week, leaving the store at 3 a.m. Exhibiting the new fruit or vegetable to his customers, purple carrots or tiny bananas, he’d confide on its attributes.

“Extra sweet,” he’d say, as if you were now the beneficiary of a secret tipster.

There were those times I’d ask him to find a ripe melon and without prodding or sniffing — my grandma always sniffed and prodded — he’d simply look hard. “This one,” he’d say, picking one out that never failed to be ripe and juicy. In his own way, a matchmaker.

There was a time he discovered a chameleon in the pineapples and brought it over to the school. Another time it was a giant lobster. He was happy to intrigue all of us with exotic finds. And once, he even offered a money-making tip: “Put an empty purse on the roof during a full moon and in the morning, it will be full of cash,” he’d confided, straight faced, never cracking a smile. “Nothing to lose,” he’d add.

And I’d nod, not knowing if he was serious or joking and say, “Ok, nothing to lose, eh Harvey.” Did I ever put an empty purse on my roof? Probably not, but look, I’ve remembered about the empty purse all these years. And who knows, we live in weird times.

Harvey worked at Foster’s for over 50 years, ever since he left the Navy. He was one of its fixtures, along with Bud Foster, of course. And there’s also a younger crew that say they grew up at Foster’s, fostered (pardon the pun) by the likes of Bud and Harvey.

One of the cashiers related that Bud used to feed many of the neighborhood children by giving them the so-called job of “sandwich tasters.” It was like a real job with responsibility to check in on time, but the only labor was to eat the food. Faced with an ordinary cheese and baloney sandwich, he’d ask, “How was it?”

Bud gave kids free apples, read stories in classrooms and was a secret Santa to those he knew were most in need, slipping financial gifts into a pocket or purse. “He just knew who needed it,” one of the cashiers recalled, while expertly ringing us up.

Harvey and Bud are dead now. But Foster’s keeps on going, still with a team of loyal workers who re-create the culture of the small family grocery. If you forgot your money … if you can’t carry your bag of grocery to your car … if you want your chicken thighs cut a certain way or need advice on the right cut of ham for two … if you’re lonely and want to chat or sit, or get out of the rain.

It’s not a big store, it can’t compete with Big Y or Stop & Shop and it doesn’t have everything you think you want, but the deli is hopping, the crabmeat is fresh, the corn is local in season and the wine is often a few dollars less.

And what it lacks in product, it makes up in history and a sense of belonging. I know we will be going there for our eggs and nostalgia. As one of Foster’s cashiers likes to say, “have a good day and a better tomorrow.”

Ruth Charney lives in Greenfield.

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