In the name of +Jesus. When I was growing up, way across our pasture, there was a farmer’s market/flea market/auto auction on steroids. It was called Zern’s. Or as the PA Dutch said, “Tserns.” Friday nights at Zern’s were sheer chaos. People going in every direction. Vendors hawking their goods. The auctioneer talking a mile a minute. If you didn’t remember exactly…