If you’ve never farmed before (and do remember, I haven’t) the term “rock picking” will likely mean very little to you. I hadn’t heard the phrase uttered until a couple of months ago when Steven, Melissa and I helped an organic grain farm down the road do its annual run of rock picking.
The grain farm [read more ...]
The tricky thing about spending time on a farm is – for me, anyway – that it’s damn near impossible to leave.
I went there two Thursdays ago to help set up the barn for the weekly distribution of product and food to CSA members. And all of a sudden there it was, a full week [read more ...]
Steven and I were helping Tim in the greenhouse two weeks ago when I learned about nettles. We were dropping tiny seeds into blocks of soil set in flat wooden boxes, Steven placing each by hand and I, wary of my clumsy fingers, shaking them out one-by-one from an index card folded in half. Once [read more ...]
I crossed my arms and looked down at the half a pig in front of me. It was skinned and cleaned and weighed in at a solid 115 pounds. Minutes earlier, Sam had lifted it gently from a thick hook in the cooler and carried it to the stainless steel table, hugging it to his [read more ...]
I’ve been hanging around the farm for a little over a month now, and I’m happy to say my involvement has grown from eager yet blundering volunteer to eager yet blundering volunteer with a more clearly defined role: every Monday and Tuesday, I cook lunch and dinner for the farmers.
This is a perfect arrangement for [read more ...]
There is a restaurant and winery in the Finger Lakes called Red Newt, and if you reach very far back into your memory, you may recall I wrote about it almost a year ago.
I love it dearly there, having since returned many times to eat lunch and dinner, sample canapes and well, just, hang out [read more ...]
I will be the first to admit that I cook with frozen puff pasty all the time. Like, way more than a healthy adult probably should. But the butter content in the stuff isn’t the shaming issue at hand; the fact that I routinely use the pre-packaged stuff is.
I get the whole “convenience” thing and [read more ...]
I haven’t considered myself a real city mouse – not since I fled Manhattan in tears, a trail of destruction and broken leases in my wake, anyway. I quickly settled into life in Syracuse, enjoying the way strangers smiled at me and apartments cost less than my college education.
But I did miss it. I thought [read more ...]
You may have noticed a certain absence in my life. I hesitate to call it an emptiness because I am full and happy, though I suppose some might.
Stu and I have ended our relationship – on the most amicable of terms, I assure you – and now there is time where there wasn’t, quiet where [read more ...]
If I had a mandoline, I would certainly use it.
But I don’t have one, so I tend to avoid cooking things that require uniformly thin slices. Like potato chips, for example. I wish I made potato chips. I just don’t have the patience to run my knife through gnarly russets, being painfully careful to avoid [read more ...]
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