For longtime locals on the outside of Davidson looking in, the quaint college town always seemed like a haven tucked inside the hodgepodge — a pipe dream for most aspiring collegians and a perfect place to ponder retirement. It has a hint of New England quaintness and a puff of California hippie stuffed inside a subtle Southern shell.

While growth has forever altered the character of Mooresville, Huntersville and Cornelius, Davidson has fought to remain the utopian nirvana Talkers revere and remember: the original NoDa district with far fewer tattoos.

Recent Davidson events and — heaven forbid — public criticism about them are makingwaves on the golden pond and poking at the veneer of paradise, but on Saturday mornings at the Farmer’s Market, the magic remains.

In a tree- and canopy-shaded stroll through the heart of the village, you see ponytailed professors and overall-clad farmers sharing semi-secret formulas for the perfect tomato. You see jogging shorts and flannel skirts, sports bras and baggy blouses and Bermudas and brogans. You hear banjo music in the background of conversations about Swiss ski vacations, Wall Street expectations and supercollider discoveries along with a mixture of Northern, Southern and European accents discussing the sweet corn, shrimp, soap and sweets they have seen and sampled so far.

The villagers flock and, for a few hours each Saturday morning, outsiders are welcome to participate as vendors and shoppers. From flowers to fresh-baked bread, from local lavender creations to naturally raised beef products, it all flows into one as Davidson puts its culture, creativity and civility on display.

The politics currently in play, and the shift in community supervision that may result, could alter “the Davidson way” of doing things, but Talkers hope no matter what, the simple magnificence of Saturday mornings endures.