Maria's Summer on the Farm

So Soon, Too Soon?

2005-08-03T18:56:00.000-07:00

It is impossible for me to update this thing after an absence of over a month. But! Since my time here is coming to a close, I think it would be good to start back writing. I have learned enough so that when I go home I will no longer have a lawn, I will have a garden. I’m already reading up on trellising melons. My dreams of the future have in many ways been more interesting than the reality of weeds and endless bush beans. Bush beans will not be in my garden, only long beautiful poles of beans.
The importance of this type of work has been reaffirmed over and over again. We went three weeks without bringing in outside food (the only exceptions were flour, milk from a neighbor’s farm and liquor). There was a great satisfaction in knowing that everything was raised on the same land that we were eating it on. The food was not at all shabby either. Joey made what he called the Second Branch of the White River Flan, I made a delicious Carrot and Dill soup and ravioli stuffed with a neighbor’s homemade cheese. Everything I have eaten here has been so fulfilling. We are what we eat and here I’m not oblivious.
I have been made into the keeper of Shiitake mushrooms. It is hard work, moving logs into water, taking them out, enduring the forest mosquitoes. But it is worth it, because every day or two I come back with major loot. These babies are huge, and freggin yummy. I feel confident enough to grow my own shiitakes. Which is a pretty awesome skill to have.
The adult guinea hens were slaughtered yesterday. It was this huge relief because they made an awful racket. It greeted me every morning at about 5am. But as soon as they left, it was like the babies knew that it was their turn to step up. They are filling the other birds’ shoes nicely and it's like the other guineas never left.
Yesterday we harvested potatoes. It is an amazingly versatile and hearty plant. I am in awe of the potato. Joey told us about the potato farmers in the Andes and the diversity of varieties from this cradle of the potato. I had always thought of them as a European plant, but little do I know.
The corn is almost ready, it’s about 10 feet tall now. The tomatoes are remaining green, which is very frustrating for everyone. To all of the house members dismay I marked a few for seed saving. "I know it’s annoying." I say. It really is, because we search through the vines for a red one, then there is this beautiful Mortgage Lifter and, it is marked for seed saving. The tomatoes have to ripen to a state near rotting before the seed is good, so if it is not marked, it is likely to go. As Jeremy and Joey ganged up against me for the two or three tomatoes I explained to them that I’d be gone soon so I need to go ahead and save seed. In response Jeremy quipped, "Well you can say that’s not really our problem." Well, their tomato hunger isn’t really my problem either. I suffer with them, of course. But there are many more tomatoes unmarked and ready for eating.
Kyle built a picnic table so we sit outside for dinner now. I always face west toward the English garden and watch the humming birds in the bee balm. Kyle said something about how it is amazing that they aren’t extinct. It really is amazing to see these tiny little birds that are so rare just float from flower to flower.
There is this beautiful spot where I swim every other day or so, I will miss it so much. It is at the bend in the river, so there is an island that makes it feel more private. On the side opposite the island the bank is rock then turns into a hill that shadows the deep swimming hole. I can pick black caps and look up at purple, blue and white flowers. The sun is always setting at this time so the sky is golden and the air is warm, not hot. The water is so clear, our spring water flows into the river so I feel comfortable drinking it, it tastes just like our tap water, maybe even better. If the wind is blowing over the north bank I can smell the black mint in the pasture. I can wash the day away and feel good about being here. I will miss that place the most.
Soon I will be back in Denver, and immersed in the harsh reality of supermarkets and cement. Maybe I’ll start going swimming in the morning in an effort to store up all that goodness before I have to go back.

Hay Days 2005

2005-06-28T16:05:00.000-07:00

Last night I went to bed at eight o’clock. Jennifer walked in later in the night to check her e-mail and was amused by my sprawling-eagle-like position. We have entered the Hay Days, it's an exciting and frustrating time. The first two fields which amounts to something like 10 acres were no problem, the hay was mowed, tedded, raked, bailed and put in the wagon and then in the hay mow. The current field has been a pain in the ass though. Yesterday we had rain threatening us as a halo of clouds formed, then the baler broke and remains broken today. The bailer is this amazing, intricate machine that is pulled behind a tractor. It pulls in the raked hay then forms it into perfect rectangles and ties twine around the newly formed mass and spits it out. The apparatus that knots the twine has been pinned down as the reason for the machine to break. We only got about 100 or so bales in yesterday which isn’t much at all. There is a machine that picks up the hay and stacks it neatly for you. I prefer doing the work of picking up each bale in the field and putting it on the wagon. It is exhausting, gratifying, wonderful work. The switchel isn’t bad either. Anna, Jennifer’s sister introduced us to it the first day of haying. It is a drink farmers would make during haying, it is a really good hydrator. It sounds awful but it tastes like Gatorade, only without all the fructose and coloring. It’s made out of sugar (or maple syrup which is a much more practical alternative sweetener in these parts), water, vinegar, lemon juice and ginger. The vinegar puts people off at first but it gives the drink an unmistakable kick that lets you know, it’s switchel!

So with most of the plants in the ground and only being able to take so much weeding in the heat I spent the afternoon shoveling and pick axing pig shit. We’ve been working on the pen in short spurts for a couple of weeks now and it isn’t even half way done yet.

I went to the Vermont history expo on Sunday. Two of our heritage breed Southdown sheep were displayed. I had some Pakistani food and enjoyed the exhibits. I found out that the discounted bread we get each week is from a bakery that was a part of an Italian socialist meeting house.

Here’s my favorite picture thus far. It was taken yesterday after we roped a calf. Brad was trying to offer his mom flowers as we were loading the cow in the truck. That's Jennifer, Brad and Jeremy.

Trying to write about 2 weeks on the farm is tough

2005-06-18T13:14:00.000-07:00

Where to start after my long absence? How about I do a montage of highlights?

Most of the corn is in the ground and word on the street is that we have the highest stalks in town. The trick is transplanting rather than direct seed. We do this because crows eat the corn seeds (kernels) not so our corn will provide bragging rights. The last day of corn planting was fun and went really fast. Jeremy was the architect of the corn maze, and the CSA shares and I were the toiling workers. I got to make two really bad vegetable related jokes. One of the work shares went to go pee in the woods and I said, “Don’t take a leak on the leeks!” and that made a domino effect among everyone with the inevitable peeing on peas and so on and so forth. Then I came in with the zinger, “That joke is so corny.” It was like the planets had aligned in the bad joke universe. It just won’t happen again.

When all the corn was planted I was responsible for watering, the hose didn’t reach so I had to transport buckets. I started out scooping the water with my hands and pouring it on the thirsty corn babies. I felt like the matron of corn blessing each stalk in the maze with my nourishing spirit… or something. It was a good feeling. Later, Peter and Pearl cut up their Aquafina bottle and gave it to me to use as a cup, so I was still the matron of corn, just a more an efficient one.

That weekend I worked in the garden Saturday rather than going to market. When Miriam and Jeremy came back they invited me to go swimming in town. So we went to this great spot and played in the water for a few hours. We rode a fast current for a little while then we waded down the river about a quarter mile to a rope swing. It was one of those pristine afternoons that only happen in the summer.

The new apprentice had arrived the day before with his girlfriend. He was here a couple years back and knows the area pretty well. As I was laying on my bed about to fall asleep at 7:30 in the evening he came upstairs and invited me to contra dancing. Contra dancing is best described by the image from the movies with the rockin’ bluegrass band and two rows of people, one women, one men, spinning and twirling in synch with the caller on stage giving directions like, “Swing your partner round and round and dozy-doe.” It was great music and everyone was really friendly. The regulars were patient with my contra ineptitude and would put me in place. It is a good metaphor for life because once you get in the line you have are in that line till the end and have to go with the flow and do the best you can, because everyone depends on each other to make the line work. By the end of the day I was wiped out, but in a really good way.

Sunday was the CSA potluck. Jennifer made a 25 pound turkey, I made spring rolls. A good time was had by all. It was another evening that was purely summer; kids ran around with watermelon playing hide-and-go-seek, a hammock was broke under the weight of too many children, we drank lemonade, perfectly, completely and utterly June.

When I step back and think about the past week I realize there have been quite a few parties. Monday there was a “tea party” at our neighbor Karen’s. There was no tea involved but there was a bonfire, current juice, rhubarb and all sorts of delicious dinner items. We drank some 90 proof Italian liquor that tasted like Absinthe, I mixed mine with the juice from the fruit salad. After dinner Karen took me, Annie and Miriam over to experiment with goat milking. It was the first time I had ever milked anything, my aim was pretty good but I wasn’t able to harness the squirting power of the teat that Karen wielded so effortlessly.

This workweek had its ups and downs. We moved pigs and started cleaning out the pigpen. It’s about the size of tennis court and about 3 or 4 feet deep. We have to use a pickaxe to break it up.
The rain has been coming down for the past 3 days or so. Wednesday provided an exciting ordeal. I was cleaning in the milkhouse when Kyle came in looking extremely frazzled and really mad. It was a “crisis situation” with the guineas. They were drowning in the chicken tractor outside. I ran to them and transported a few crates full into the barn. I had to go get the heat lamps and my route to the storage area seems ridiculous in retrospect. The rain wasn’t what I would call torrential but I’ve been swimming in this stuff for a few days now, I would say the rain was hard and persistent. This is important to bear in mind as I tell you about the two routes I had to choose from. The first was up the shit hill through the (covered) barn up the stairs and around to the storage room. That was the dry, warm, obvious choice. The second route is a crisis route full of perils and corresponding heroics. It is up the shit pile then scaling a muddy steep hill, then running to the storage area. That was, of course, the route I took. The hill was not quite like climbing, but it was close. I came back into the barn via the practical route, heat lamps in hand for the poor birds.

One died, one escaped and two particularly sickly ones spent the night warming on the stove in the house.

The rain gives everything an air of excitement when you’re stuck out in it doing some sort of grueling work that would otherwise be humdrum, or average. For instance, as Jeremy and I were working on sheep fence, the cows got out. So we were repairing electrical fence in a storm, a task that would have some urgency on a fair day, but in the rain, it was an exciting “crisis situation”. It demanded me to run across tall grasses squinting with raindrops in my eyelashes on a mad search for insulators. When it comes down to it the rain makes things more fun, it’s really shitty for planting and general well being, but it sure is exciting to work in.

I wanted to make another bad joke yesterday about running around like “a chicken with their head cutoff”. It would have been fitting and I would have thought it was hilarious as soon as it came out of my mouth. The situation yesterday was with the Mobile Slaughtering Unit. It arrived at about 7:30, right as I was finishing my delicious breakfast. The slaughterer lost all of his dates and arrived a week early on the day of our first share pickup. We were caught completely off guard. I ran about with buckets of hot water and hoses. Jenn had gone to the post office to pick up baby chicks and arrived into the scene with a box full of about a hundred chicks that in my mind, were coated with irony. We then rounded up the meat birds that were in the front yard. After there were enough birds to begin slaughtering and cleaning I took my post at the unit. I handed the birds over to their death. They were put into cones, had their heads cutoff and flailed bleeding for a few minutes. Then after they stopped moving they were scalded then put in a tumbler where most of their feathers were plucked off. Then they went to a sink where they cleaned out the guts and thew them into the cold water. I listened to him talk between killings as they cleaned the birds. He told me about his farm, I took particular interest in his pet peacocks. He said they could live decades. Ends began to meet with the thoughts that were floating in my head. He had a really gentle demeanor, I don’t think he really liked killing. But he said, “I would rather do it because I know I’ll do it right.” His motto was, “I’m not here to hurt your animal, I’m here to kill it.” As I fed the pigs leftover radishes today I found the medium for me with eating creatures with eyes. Death is inevitable for everything, especially farm animals. They are raised to die. The least they can be given is a good life, with some sunshine, some good food, and a swift death, preferably in a place they are comfortable. It was this man’s duty to make sure their last minutes were okay. He was a steward of respectful death.

There are big plans for the rest of today and plenty of interesting stuff has already happened. But I will save the story telling of Saturday for tomorrow. I really should update this thing more because it is quite difficult to give the days justice when they are clumped together like this. Oh well.

Cleansing

2005-06-01T21:20:00.000-07:00

After more weeding and a cow rodeo I was sunburnt and tired. Miriam, Jeremy, little Brad and I went swimming in the river near the cabin. It was so freaking beautiful.

It was like being baptized (but being a heathen, I don't have a comparable experience to give that statement any clout).

My life has been changed forever. That's really all I can say about today.

Weeds, Rain and Pig on Pig Action

2005-05-31T22:33:00.000-07:00

Even though I am very very tired I have decided that it doesn’t make much sense to have one of these things if I don’t update it.

I have underestimated weeds my entire life. I have been under the false assumption that they are merely an annoyance, not a time consuming hindrance that they proved to be today. On today’s list of work Jennifer gave directions for weeding the onions, there was only one other item on the list to be done if we were to finish this chore. A “ha ha” served as a prelude to the lettuce planting. I will already tell you that no lettuce was planted today. So we worked in what turned out to be fair day compared to the others we have been having. I have a nice rouge dusted on my face and arms courtesy of the sun. Jeremy, Kyle and I weeded, and weeded, and weeded. Little bits of clover, giant blades of grass, the occasional dandelion, a nettle here and there, they all fell under the iron grasp of my dirty hands, and the blades of the roto-tiller. Though we did have such equipment on our side, the intricate world around the onions demanded the gentle touch of a human. Altogether we did about 5 rows of onions after about 9 hours of work. Perhaps we could have worked faster, but it is hard to keep up a strenuous pace for that long. The thunderstorms in the afternoon gave us a break. After the sky opened up I stayed outside for a little bit looking at the sky, my thought process went something like this:

“Those clouds sure are dark, this is going to last awhile. But look at the horizon, it isn’t going to be here for a REALLY long time. Maybe I should tough it out.” Just as a side note, I have toughed out a few showers already, no thunderstorms, but they were enough to make it so I didn’t have to shower later on.

I looked at the raindrops, they were big. From there I made another judgement.

“This could turn into hail.” At this point Jeremy had the good sense to go inside, and had already walked the acre or so and was probably quite toasty. We had been mulching with hay that was moldy and wet. When I realized this was what I would be doing, lugging bales of wetter hay to the muddier ground, I realized I was a fool and went in.

From there I had these rainy day options:

1. Clean Syrup Cans
2. Clean Eggs
3. Clean Animal Pins

I rejected the dainty work of eggs and syrup for the third, shoveling shit. I enjoy the metaphor, the idea of purging and cleaning and dealing with the awfulness. I especially enjoy the end product of a clean home for a new set of animals. I have been working on the calf pins for awhile and am almost done. Soon there will be young turkeys there. For an hour or so it was just me my pitchfork and a couple hundred pounds of baby cow excrement. When the rain subsided I collected eggs and fed the abandoned lamb. She ate out of my hand, I think she likes me. I also got to see some pig action between a boar and a sow. When I walked out of the chicken coup I came upon quite the scene. There was a rather large rump humping another large rump. It was breeding time! The thing that strikes me the most about the pigs is how much they remind me of humans, this was no exception. The sow just kind of stood there, and the boar was really excited about even being given the chance to spread his seed. The other pigs were fighting over something, and for the most part looked uninterested. This was one of the highlights of my day.

After putting the eggs in the house I walked back over to the onion patch and mulched and weeded till I decided it was time to call it a day. Tomorrow I will get up and do it again. Such is the herbicide free world. This is the intensive farming that makes your organic onion a couple of cents more than your “conventional” onion. I am also sold on the idea that this toiling will either make you cry a little bit more as you slice it over the cutting board, or it will make it just a little bit sweeter when it finally makes its way into your dinner.

Lambs

2005-05-23T19:43:00.000-07:00

Jennifer dropped me off at the greenhouse this morning and I planted about 720 sweet corn seeds. The garden club came later to do a tour of the greenhouse which ended up being really fun. One woman from North Carolina said that you know when you're ready to plant by going out in the yard, dropping your pants and taking a seat. If it’s warm, your ready.

I don't think the ground would pass the test here, though. It is cold and rainy.

Later on after I spent some time cleaning eggs, we went outside to make a fence for the chicks that are ready to go outside. Tomorrow I will have to transfer them from their pin to their new home.

Today was a hard day for the sheep. An ewe died over night of cast and it was the day to take five lambs to slaughter. Jennifer said that today’s experience with pulling the lambs was six on a 1 through 10 scale. It’s wet and rainy which brought it down a couple notches. I helped as much as I could with rounding them up, I try to stay out of the way, listen, concentrate, and help where needed. Eventually there were five in the truck ready to be sent to the Royal Butcher. We did chores then went on our way. The slaughterhouse was closed for the day but the butchers kept the pin unlocked so they could load in the lambs. The holding rooms were clean but sad, yellow bulbs were lighting the room washing everything with a dark gold. None of the animals in there seemed happy. The two pigs were ready to break out and the cow was quietly accepting its fate. I asked about the slaughtering methods at this butcher on the way over and the lambs started talking. I apologized, they seemed to know what was up.

Jennifer had made lamb ribs for dinner, it was very purposeful, and not intended to be funny. After dinner she asked me to come outside and showed me the ewe with a lamb beside her standing in front of the sheep that had died the night before. Her lambs were sent to slaughter and she knew. She cried an angry cry, a deep baa. She looked right at Jennifer and then over at the dead sheep. As though she was saying, “Why? Look at what you do to us! Why do you take our children? Why do you make us suffer?” She will continue to morn for her lamb for one or two more days. She is a good mother, the other ones haven’t realized yet and will begin crying tomorrow. We talked about vegetarians. We are part of the animal kingdom and more in tune with their language. But it is not irrational to think that plants don't have a language all their own. It is arrogant to think that just because they don’t have eyes they aren’t capable of complexity. Even if you can’t swallow that you can’t deny the ecosystem and life cycle and our interconnection. That deserves just as much respect. Humans must understand their power and wield it with caution.

Tonight when I go to bed I will hear that mother crying and I will know why, and I will know I had part in her suffering. My awareness doesn’t justify it for her, though.

First 6 Days

2005-05-22T06:44:00.000-07:00

I asked Jennifer if I will eventually become like steel and not ache after a hard days work. She laughed and later I realized that it was so funny because:.

1) I ain’t seen nothing yet.
2) A hard days work will always leave one exhausted and aching, no matter how hardened I become.

My trip here was rather uneventful, the ride to St. Louis was the worst part. I was surrounded by idiots. There were two boys (self professed 18 year olds but they could have been 16 or 17) they traveled around the country selling magazines. They were carrying marijuana and were really vocal about it, as though trafficking drugs was a common, legal thing. Plenty of times I was about to tell the bus driver to call the cops because I was so annoyed with them. They had really loud head phones and only had one CD by the rapper DMX. One of the boys asked to skim through my selection. I mostly had MP3 discs so they couldn’t listen to them, the only standard CD I had was Bruce Springsteen’s Nebraska. He listened to it for a couple minutes and then handed it back. Later he had asked another gentleman if he could look through his selection and was much more pleased, after finding out he had 50 Cent and Alicia Keyes he said, “You know your music.” The guy with the cultured musical tastes was pretty scary too, from his conversation I gathered that he just got out of prison, was probably carrying weapons, and had no qualms about killing a man. Maybe he was just trying to impress the lady next to him who had to listen to him talk for four hours. But I seriously doubt he really cared much about what women thought judging by the chauvinistic tone of his diatribes. Later, a woman came on with a huge bag, two boxes of some caramel treat called Fiddle Faddles, a blanket and some pillows. She was a talker too. I found out later that she was 35, had 6 kids and loved babies, she was on her way home to her family. She had a 16 year old who just got her license to commemorate the occasion the mother made her a baby booty key chain out of old packs of Camels. Later in the day a military boy came on the bus and sat by her. The woman was quite smitten. She put on this body spray called “love spell” and told him to smell, which was a ridiculous gesture because I could smell it back in my seat and I’m sure it made it back a few more. After our dinner stop the solider boy came on with a bottle of Dr. Pepper mixed with some sort of brown liquor, whiskey or brandy, I’m not sure. He proceeded to get belligerently drunk, he attempted to recruit one of the stoner boys, the boy didn’t appreciate him insulting his life style which led to an uncomfortable situation that was teetering on an all out brawl, thankfully that didn’t happen. Later in the night he ended up doing something under a blanket with the Camel cigarette craft lady, whatever it was I don’t think her husband would have liked it very much. These people got off in St. Louis, and by then I was trying to think of ways to hop on a flight when I got to Chicago. But the ride from St. Louis to Chicago was quiet and as relaxing as such a trip could be.

I got to Chicago at about 8:00am on Tuesday morning. At that point I was trying to wake up with the sunrise and stay up long enough for my body used to it. Its paid off so far. I had a four hour layover in Chicago and decided to walk over to the Sears Tower. By this point I was looking a bit ragged. If you have never ridden the Greyhound, you might not know about that distinctive aroma that wafts about the station and through the busses. But if you haven’t I will try to explain it. After garage stops the busses are cleaned and that Greyhound scent is at its most potent. The most noticeable smell is a blend of the emptied shit tank and the industrial cleaner, this is mixed with stale cigarettes, fast food odor and general funk. That smell latches onto every fiber of clothing, every inch of scalp and hair, and on all exposed skin.

Sometimes I miss it when wanderlust sinks in. So I walked to the tower with the stink lines behind me and a greasy look all about me. I was pleased to see the towers had just opened and started in on the trip to the sky deck. I went through security where I had to run my two bags with a summer’s worth of clothes and supplies through the x-ray machine. I explained to them I just got off the Greyhound. They were really friendly and commented on the bottle of wine in my tote bag. They said they were going to have to sample it to make sure it was safe. It was all in good fun. I wonder if they noticed the 60 tampons stuffed in the shoes nestled on top of my clothes. The strangest thing about the Sears Tower experience was what they did before I bought my ticket, they took a picture of everyone who passed through. I couldn’t help but feel kind of violated. But there was no choice, everyone had to do it. Then I paid 12 bucks and went to a room where we were supposed to be shown a 10 minute movie, after spending 15 minutes staring at a black screen everyone just got up and went to the elevator. The deck was full of middle school kids, it was noisy and not quite the serene experience I hoped for. But I took some pictures and went on my way back down. As I got off the elevator there was a booth where they attempted to sell me the photo that was taken of me. It was 11 dollars for the first one and 15 dollars if I wanted the second. I didn’t buy it, but I kind of regret it now, it commemorated a moment in my trip where I probably looked the most tired and worn. Walking back to the station I said hello to a man tending a parking lot. He proceeded to walk beside me and ask me all sorts of questions. I told him that I was traveling on the Greyhound to Vermont (the explanation of my bags and why I might not have looked so happy). He asked why and I told him that I was going to work on a farm. Then I found out he was from Alabama and worked on a farm there, he picked corn, greens and “even some peanuts”. He then asked me if I had any experience, I told him that I had never done it before and he was shocked. As he ran back to help a customer he said that it was like a reality series. I responded by saying it is reality.

After changing clothes in the bathroom of the station I was ready for the second leg of my trip. From Chicago to Cleveland and on through New York it was a great trip, it had more of a commuter feeling to it. On Wednesday afternoon I was in the Boston station. It was the finest of them all, modern, sleek and clean with really clear schedules and gates. I got on the Vermont Greyhound Lines headed toward Montreal. This driver was the most courteous of them all, and I thought it was a good indicator of the state. My last stop was in Randolph, VT. I was let out at a gas station and as I was just stepping off the bus, Jennifer came driving up. Then it was home to the Fat Rooster Farm.

The first morning I got up at 6:30am and got dressed and went downstairs. It wasn’t as early as I would have liked to have gotten up, but I cut myself some slack. I drank some coffee and listened to the morning auction with Brad and Kyle. Thursday is mail bag day on the radio show. I helped Jenifer with the morning chores, which was mainly feeding and watering the pigs, chicks, chickens, calves, and cows. It’s an important time of the day and vital for knowing the animals. Some chicks arrived at the post office and we drove over to pick them up. They were all alive which was relieving. All are still doing well. After putting them into their new more spacious home we set off to the next task. It’s spring and time for the cows to go out of the barns. They were cooped up all winter. Most of them were well behaved, but not entirely. One had to be pulled out by Jennifer while I pulled tugged its tail in the direction it needed to go. Eventually it got out and bucked in the relief of the sunshine. The most difficult was Hairy Pot Roast, who was born in the barn last year, and only spent a few months outside early in his life. I was then introduced to two CSA members who had just arrived to put in some work-share hours. I then went with them and began what would be the leek mania that defined the next two days. I spent the rest of the day planting leeks, the next morning I finished them off. Altogether it was about 5000 leeks!

Later on Friday we went up the road to pick wild leeks. It was so beautiful. We were next to a stream and it was so quiet, just the trickle of water, the birds and the wind in the trees.

The wild leeks were sold at Saturday market. We didn’t have much to sell given the time of year. Just meats, herb seedlings, syrup, eggs, Kyle’s pens, wild leeks, calendula, cosmos, the Harvest book, and onion seedlings. It was the best farmer’s market I’ve ever been to. It had a good mix of crafts, food booths, produce and plants. It was small, yet diverse. After the market we went to the forest to pick morels. They only grow under Ash and Cherry trees. I didn’t find any but Jenifer has quite the sense for them and picked about two or three pounds. She said it was about 60 dollars worth per bag, she had two bags. They won’t be sold though, they are just for our own gourmet meals.

Speaking of which, I haven’t had one bad meal since I have arrived. Everyone knows how to eat around here. A simple meal from last night was a sort of casserole with apples, morels, potatoes, homemade veal sausage, sauteed with onions and topped with dumplings. There was also a delicious salad, radishes with cottage cheese sprinkled with tiny purple chive flowers. It was a gorgeous and delicious meal.

When life is centered around eating good food consciously, the quality of that life is increased tenfold. I feel so healthy and invigorated after only a few days. This experience will be one that shapes my attitudes for the rest of my life, I don’t think I’ll be able to go back again.