A year ago, I was sitting at home behind a laptop wondering why nobody was buying from my small business. I'd built Coco Loco from a homebrew experiment with my sister, spent more than a year developing a product I was genuinely proud of, and poured everything I had into a website I'd taught myself to build over eighteen-hour days. I ran the ads, I wrote every word of copy, I waited for customers to come.
They didn't.
For all my years as a brand strategist advising companies on growth and distinction, I discovered I knew very little about the mechanics of actually running a small business. Orders trickled in nowhere near what I'd envisioned, and I found myself stuck; not just commercially, but personally. I no longer trusted my instincts, I had zero faith in my decision-making, and I couldn't find a way through the muck. Looping, invasive thoughts kept eating at whatever confidence I had left: "The problem isn't the product. The problem isn't the model. So the problem must be me."
A friend I'd met at the Good Food & Wine Show suggested I try selling face-to-face at markets. Honestly, I was skeptical. But lacking another play, I set out to do every market I could find, every weekend.
It took a painful amount of trial and error to learn that large-format events weren't our fit. Our story, our craft, our ethos couldn't cut through the noise of a hundred stalls where twisted potatoes were the main attraction. But farmer's markets offered an entirely different rhythm. People were there to buy their weekly groceries, not just stroll and sample. They wanted quality; they valued knowing where things came from; and they genuinely liked meeting the person who made what they were buying. They kept coming back.
One market changed everything: the Slow Food Markets in West Footscray.
The locals weren't just receptive; they were eager. They wanted to try the product, hear the story, know how it was made, and spend real time talking. We sold out that day, but the sales weren't the point. It was the feeling. The camaraderie with other stallholders who checked us out, offered feedback, shared advice without being asked. It was a personal and professional experience I hadn't ever had before, and for the first time I truly understood the power of community and belonging as a small business owner.
I also recognised something I'd been getting fundamentally wrong. I had been sitting at home wondering why people weren't showing up for me, when I hadn't been showing up for them. My community didn't owe me their support; I needed to earn it by being present.
So I stepped outside of my business and into my neighbourhood. Onto the school council at Kingsville Primary. Onto the executive committee of the Yarraville Kingsville Business Association. These organisations didn't just support the broader community; they supported me, in ways I could never have planned.
But one thing kept nagging. For all its village heart, Yarraville and its neighbours Kingsville and Seddon have no farmers market of their own. No place where growers sell what they grow, makers sell what they make, and neighbours bump into each other over good coffee and fresh produce.
So I decided to build one.
Yarraville Farmers Market launches September 2026, operated by Common Ground Markets. It will be varied, food-first, local and Australian-made, single-use plastic free, and built entirely around the community it serves. The same things that saved my own small business, offered to the growers, bakers, and makers of the inner west; and to a neighbourhood that deserves a great market to call its own.
If you grow, make, bake or pour something genuinely good, I’d love to hear from you — express your interest as a foundation stallholder. And if you just want to be first to know the details, join our mailing list.
I can’t wait to build this market with you.
— Jill
Planning a day around it? Here is our guide to things to do in Yarraville.
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