The Memory of Taste: A Proustian Experience

All hands on deck, we start harvesting the rows of tomatoes—Brandywine, Jubilee, Early Girl, Striped German, Blue Beech, Amish Paste, Polbig, Eva Purple Ball. The vines smell minty when you lean in close to find a tomato wedged in the middle of the vines. Sometimes the tomatoes are hanging from the vine, other times they are nestled within the trellising. You can hear someone talking, but you can’t always see them, hidden by a green tangle with dabs of red or yellow. We reach in, twist off the top, and place the tomatoes face down in the crates so they don’t bruise each other. I like harvesting Black Princes, Russian heirlooms with mixed hues, a dark reddish purple with green shoulders. The color of Eva Purple Ball, a German heirloom, is also remarkable, a bright pinkish red; this variety dates back to the late 1800’s. Sometimes they are soft or split, so you can chuck the tomato out of the field if you are feeling strong, or toss one at an unsuspecting friend walking by. I like startling experience of walking through the farm and finding an unexpected tomato in the tall grass, a small sign that someone harvesting before you has a good arm.

While harvesting tomatoes one of our volunteers, Alex, mentioned a fascinating phenomenon. He remarked on what power a taste can have to evoke an emotional memory. This phenomenon is known as the Proustian experience.  Marcel Proust made such a moment famous with his Remembrance of Things Past, after he bit into a petite madeleine cookie and took a sip of tea—“the water-lilies on the Vivonne and the good folk of the village and their little dwellings and the parish church and the whole of Combray and its surroundings, taking shape and solidity, sprang into being, town and gardens alike, from my cup of tea.” While harvesting beans this week, I bit into a bean and, suddenly, I was a little kid, barefoot in the garden picking green beans that climbed up a bamboo teepee. It took me right back to afternoons where I’d go search for caterpillars crawling up our crab apple tree and on our orange slide. I’d look for cicada casings, upright, still clinging to the bark, frozen in time. Sometimes I was afraid to touch them, thinking they were real cicadas. I remember hanging from my knees, looking at the world upside down letting my hair brush the acorns, wishing my hair was longer. Going behind our small wooden playhouse, I remember finding moss and wondering why it only grew there. Sent to find raspberries, I’d wander into the furthest back garden. It’s overtaken by rose-a-sharon now, higher than your shoulders.

One of the elements that makes memory so vivid is the emotional content of it. I learned this at Kenyon’s Writing and Thinking program. You may not remember the details of a childhood memory precisely, but the emotion will be accurate. In “Blackberry- Picking,” Seamus Heaney captures the joy of picking blackberries and the strong childlike urge to pick as many as possible—

You ate that first one and its flesh was sweet
Like thickened wine: summer's blood was in it
Leaving stains upon the tongue and lust for
Picking. Then red ones inked up and that hunger
Sent us out with milk-cans, pea-tins, jam-pots

Where briars scratched and wet grass bleached our boots.

At the close of the poem, he vividly remembers finding a fungus among the berries,

I always felt like crying. It wasn’t fair

That all the lovely canfuls smelt of rot.

Each year I hoped they’d keep, knew they would not.

Onion Skins Very Thin, Mild Winter Coming In

Photo Art of an onion by Claire Staples

When harvesting onions, you wait for them to weaken at the top of bulb and flop over onto the ground. When the scape of the onion has drooped to the side, you know it is ready to be harvested. Afterwards, the onions are moved to the greenhouse. The temperature of the greenhouse reminds me of hot yoga class, but it is appropriate for the onions. Cutting the onions involves snipping off the tops of the onions so that they do not mold. All you can hear is snip, snip, of the scissors and a rustle of the dried tops, sometimes a little crinkle of the outer skin of the onion. After snipping them we put them in harvest crates, only two layers to allow the onions to breathe. Sometimes it would smell like onions when snipping off the tops, but mostly it was not strong enough to make you tear up.  I discovered, according to the onion association, that sulfuric compounds in onions are what make you tear up. But crying is not the only cultural association with onions, they are also fabled in an old English rhyme to predict the coming winter: “Onion skins very thin, mild winter coming in. Onion skins very tough, coming winter very rough.” I think our onion skins our thin, but this could be wishful thinking!

Similar to onions, when you gather sunflower seeds, you should wait for the sunflower to flop over and for the petals to fall off. One interesting fact that Joanna shared about flowers is that there are ascetic choices to be made when making a bouquet of flowers but that it is also important to cut flowers at the right time in their growth in order to make them  last longer in bouquets. If you cut flowers when they are still closed they will bloom in the vase. For instance, when cutting sunflowers, the flowers will last the longest in a vase if they have a mostly flat seed section in the sunflower (as you can see in the photo). The seeds in the middle are flat before they start to grow and as the sunflowers begin to mature the middle of the flower will become more rounded.

 I think the sunflower's height is what makes it so exciting to witness. I like to imagine it counting "the steps 0f the sun" as William Blake puts it in Ah! Sunflower— 

Ah Sunflower weary of time,
Who countest the steps of the sun:
Seeking after that sweet golden clime
Where the traveller's journey is done;

Squelch and Slap

The coarse boot nestled on the lug, the shaft
Against the inside knee was levered firmly.
He rooted out tall tops, buried the bright edge deep
To scatter new potatoes that we picked
Loving their cool hardness in our hands. 

By God, the old man could handle a spade.

Just like his old man.       
                                          Seamus Heaney, Digging

 Now when I read Seamus Heaney’s Digging, I understand the process that he is writing about: burying the edge of the fork, sometimes rocking back and forth to make it go into the soil, leaning on the wooden handle to unearth the potatoes. We kneel close to the ground, digging through the soil with our hands in search of a flash of red, feeling for the firm roundness of each potato against our fingers.  When looking at the dead outer stem, a blackened thin vine, the discovery of each potato seems unlikely, but this part of the plant is deceiving. You never know how many will be on each plant or what size they will be. This is the thrill of it.  Each one seems to be an unexpected gift—Red Norlands waiting to be discovered with each churn of the soil. Sometimes the potatoes grow in odd shapes, I remember one from last season looked remarkably like a bunny. The discovery of a particularly large potato or one with an odd shape also makes harvesting potatoes exciting. With each thrust of fork, we hope that one red treasure is not pierced straight through with the fork, ruined in a second. While it only happens occasionally, there is always a little sigh of relief when the potatoes are revealed unblemished and still intact.

Seamus Heaney’s Digging is my favorite Ars Poetica, beautifully linking the act of writing with digging potatoes.  He sees digging with his pen as a way to follow his ancestors. In his biography, the poetry foundation mentions that Heaney felt insecure about being a writer in his family of farmers (visit the poetry foundation to read the entire poem and Seamus Heaney’s biography). But this poem seems to reconcile the two worlds.  I can identify with his admiration of the skill of his grandfather. When I look over at the farmers at Rushton, I am often struck by their experienced and efficient ways of farming. Heaney seems to relish the messy nature of harvesting potatoes. The seed potato that you bury when planting each potato often molds and liquid oozes out into the soil, making your hands sticky—

The cold smell of potato mold, the squelch and slap
Of soggy peat, the curt cuts of an edge
Through living roots awaken in my head.
But I've no spade to follow men like them.

Between my finger and my thumb
The squat pen rests.
I'll dig with it.

Heirloom Tomato

Greetings from Cape Cod!
 I hope you are enjoying your tomatoes and looking forward to melons!









Heirloom Tomato
                            By Natalie Staples

The green vine digs deep and pierces its fruit,
shapes it like dough,
sends a crease down the middle,
skin is stretched like a child’s cheeks,
full of pent up air. It hangs
in its own teepee cradled in bamboo.

I know that kind of love.
I was working with my knees pressed
 into the soil when a farmer told me
that mulching was like tucking in a baby.
Pulling the covers of hay over its vines,
sometimes discovering a tiny watermelon.

But it’s a little more than that—
the crunch of fresh straw in the pitch fork
bits of it sticking to my legs in the heat
we slip and slide, it’s so new
I can’t shake off the feeling of wanting to roll
all of the straw fluffed and ready,
waiting for a horse to walk through
that cozy feeling at the close of the day
when the sweat is scraped and the pony
is left grazing, the lead line drags along grass
he wanders in for a bucket of sweet feed
nosing his way back to the barn
gone quiet except for contented munching.

                                                            
                                                            

The Precision of Tasks

This past week we were weeding the beans, two varieties, Providers and Edamame, while Cape Cod winds whipped through the fields. They are the kind of winds that send shirts and towels billowing on clothes lines. Wind that makes flags twist and yes, sometimes sends the row cover flying. It was the kind of wind that makes you glad you are outside, watching nature take the long meadow grass in its palm and let out a long breath. It makes the farm look neater somehow, freshly mulched rows, a little crunch of straw as you walk between the beds. This is the kind of weather where everyone looks around and smiles.

Fine-tuned weeding is a welcome, meditative task on these days. As we knelt to pull the grass between the beans, I thought of one of the aspects of farming which has always interested me, the precision of tasks. Weeding, sowing, planting, and even counting while harvesting each crop, the careful measurement that happens on the farm is significant. My favorite tool for such precision is the collinear hoe, which is so called because it allows the person using it to weed parallel to the beds. It is best for weeds that have just begun to grow.  As we carefully pulled weeds from between the roots of the beans, Noah told us that one of the reasons we weed these crops is to prevent fungus from growing and to increase airflow between the plants.  On particularly hot days, the lack of circulation creates an ideal climate for a fungus to grow and the need to create space between the plants becomes even more necessary. Another interesting aspect of the beans that Joanna shared is that the beans are able to fix their own nitrogen.

Virgil also believes in precision, but in the way of careful observation, believing that close attention to nature would allow a farmer to predict the weather patterns. In the Georgics, he provides advice concerning crops, trees and shrubs, livestock, and bees. The work was written in four different books and was completed in c.29 B.C.

You can readily predict impending gales
By shooting stars that blaze their way through the night sky
And leave a white trail printed there.
You’ll see airy chaff and fallen leaves afloat on waves,
Down and feathers fluttering there.

The Georgics of Virgil Book 1,Translated by Peter Fallon.

Sweeter After a Frost

The best part of harvesting root crops is the little bit of the unknown, not being able to predict exactly what the crop will look like before it comes out of the ground.

This is definitely true for the Easter Egg radishes that we harvested this morning. The Easter egg radishes are different colors: purple, red, or pink so you are surprised by each color. I like hunting for the next fully grown radishes, gently pushing the greens aside to search for the largest bulb. The size of the radish is about the size of a small egg and sometimes the oval ones look particularly like dyed eggs.

Carrots also share this little moment of surprise. Some have little knobby ends, others snuggle and twist around one another. But these are the unusual ones; most of them are long rounded carrots.  One of the varieties we harvested was Mokum, an early variety. Carrots have a long germination and are often planted near radishes. Since radishes come up quickly, it is easier to spot where the carrots have been planted.   Carrots can also be a variety of colors just like the Easter Egg radishes. Sometimes we would pull up a wild carrot, a thin white root with a flower, commonly called Queen Anne’s Lace. It is possible to eat a wild carrot, but only when it is young because its xylem tissue becomes woody as it ages. Carrots are also grown in several parts of the world, the first carrot was harvested in Afghanistan. But one of the most fascinating facts about carrots is that they are sweeter after a frost. They are biennials so if you keep them in the ground, over winter they will bloom! Before Rushton Farm began all of the fields were full of wild carrots.

As we harvested, the bees were right next to carrots in the buckwheat. You could see all of the honey bees gathering pollen before the buckwheat shuts off the supply of pollen in the afternoon. It is fascinating to witness the different elements of the farm taking place side by side, nature’s reminder to observe the farm as a whole and to take notice that Rushton is one several farms all over the world cultivating carrots.

Pancakes for Dinner

In these early days of summer, we are more likely to assemble dinner than to cook it, throwing together a salad of the freshest of the crop, tossed with a dressing made of whatever we have on hand.  A bit of grilled meat or fish; grilled corn; perhaps a pasta dish if we are feeling fancy.  Nothing difficult.  No recipe required.


When we found some early zucchini in our weekly share, however, we felt the need to fire up the stove and head to the cookbooks.  We have toyed with zucchini fritters in the past, and we have always been disappointed.  Like their breakfast cousin, the pancake, it is hard to get everything about a fritter just right: the batter; the flavor; the heat of the cooking oil; the kind of cooking oil; even the topping with which to serve the finished product.  Zucchini has an incredibly high water content, so we knew we had to shred it and let it drain, but beyond that, a successful fritter had always eluded us.


For help, we turned to one of our favorite blog, www.smittenkitchen.com, and like most of Deb Perlman's incredible recipes, this one scored well in all categories.  With only one major change -- we shredded and drained the zucchini, and THEN weighed it -- this recipe is a keeper.  Our advice: make the sauce first. You are sure to eat the first of the fritters piping hot, just out of the pan, while standing over the stove making the rest of them; you'll want to have the sauce ready when you are.


Zucchini Fritters
Adapted from http://smittenkitchen.com/2011/08/zucchini-fritters/
Makes about 16-20 2-inch fritters, or enough for 4-6 adults


3-4 medium zucchini, weighing slightly more than 2 pounds total
2 teaspoons Kosher salt, plus more to taste

4 scallions, diced

2 large eggs, lightly beaten
Freshly ground black pepper to taste
1 cup all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
Canola oil, for frying

Dipping Sauce

1 cup sour cream or plain, full-fat yogurt
2 tablespoons lemon juice
1 pinch kosher salt
1 small minced or crushed clove of garlic

Make the sauce: Stir all ingredients together and adjust salt to taste.  Can be made a few hours in advance.

Trim the ends off the zucchini and grate them on the large holes of a box grater.  In a colander, toss the zucchini with 2 teaspoons of kosher salt, and set colander in your sink to drain.  After about 10 minutes, wring out the zucchini, either by squeezing small handfuls at a time or by using a spatula to press the zucchini against the holes of the colander.  Skip this step at your peril; you don't want soggy fritters.

Weigh out 2 pounds of shredded, drained zucchini, and dump into a large bowl.  Add 2-3 pinches kosher salt, to taste.  Mix in scallions, eggs and pepper.  In a separate bowl, whisk together flour and baking powder, and then add to zucchini batter, stirring until just combined.

 

Preheat oven to 200 degrees.  Heat 4 tablespoons of canola oil over medium to medium-high heat in a large skillet, until shimmering.  Working in batches, use a spoon to drop 1-2 tablespoons of batter onto the skillet, and flatten slightly with the back of the spoon.  Cook until golden at the edges, about 3-4 minutes.  Flip over and cook 2-3 minutes on the other side, until golden.  As with all pancakes: reduce heat if browning too quickly; keep a sufficient amount of oil in the pan to prevent burning; and rotate pan to avoid hot spots.  Drain on paper towels, and then keep warm in 200 degree oven, which has the advantage of crisping the fritters even further.   

Deb claims that these are a good make-ahead dish: "These fritters keep well, either chilled in the fridge for the better part of a week and or frozen in a well-sealed package for months. When you’re ready to use them, simply spread them out on a tray in a 325 degree oven until they’re hot and crisp again."  We will have to take her word, having had no leftovers whatsoever at the end of our dinner.

A Tangle of Rods and Pods

I do not know what age I was when I got lost in the pea-drills in a field behind the house, but it is a half-dream to me, and I’ve heard about it so often that I may even be imagining it. Yet, by now, I’ve imagined it so long and so often that I know what it was like: a green web, a caul of veined light, a tangle of rods and pods, stalks and tendrils, full of assuaging earth and leaf smell, a sunlit lair…All children want to crouch in their secret nests. Seamus Heaney, from Preoccupations

Picking peas at the end of the day is a calming task.  You can hear the soft drop of peas- that is if you are slow picking, celebrity picking, as some like to call it.  You can also hear the occasional crunch of the person beside you eating a sugar snap that is bruised or funny looking. Sometimes those are the sweet ones. Often, the ripe peas will be all in a line at the same height. As if they knew they had to be picked. But others hide, little treasures among nests of green. Some even have a twisty vine around them, as if they are trying to hold close as long as possible. This makes sense though, because the sugars sweeten as they mature. Pick them too early and you will lose the flavor of peas. This is when the fine combed harvesting comes in: when the peas are skinny and the white flower is still attached to the pea, they are not ready to be picked. However, when you can start to feel the bumps of the peas and the flower is browning, it’s ready. You have to be patient, two days between harvests can make a difference.  

You can see the stages of the peas in the picture to the left. The top pea still has its white flower and is evidently still maturing, the middle peas are a little too skinny, but the bottom one looks round and ready to be harvested!

Picking peas is more social than other harvesting. You can see people at eye level, hands raised towards the rows of peas. All of us on one task, no longer separated. Every once in a while someone will dump a shirt full into my bucket and I feel like a champion because it looks like I’ve picked twice as many. Nothing like a little friendly competition to see who can pick the most peas.

As the peas continue to climb they need fresh trellising. Last season, I remember pulling the white yarn around the posts. The motion is a little like sailing, both hands managing different tasks. One hand managing the new line and the other pulling it taut. I like the motion of harvesting peas as well. You can harvest one handed, hold on to the end of the pea and snap it off with your finger nail, so as not to tug on the whole vine. But the best part of harvesting peas is the search: a little surprise of finding a rogue snow pea among the sugar snaps or spying a delightfully round one.

TAP students and interns feast on sugar snaps

Rushton Farm is the Bee's Knees

The honey bees pollinate each flower, carefully tip toeing into its bud, pausing for a second and flitting on to the next. There is a sense of precise beauty in their task and manner. They stop to collect pollen but do not linger. Sometimes crawling through the bud, other times hopping from one landing to the next, a dutiful messenger. The bees know what to look for, carrying out mother nature’s call. Honey bees are important pollinators. While the Diva cucumbers that we planted this week can self-pollinate because they have male and female parts, this crop is the exception.

Recently, we watched as Noah transferred a swarm from a tree to one of the bee boxes. Some of the drones adopted a defensive position when being transferred to the box, raising their abdomens up. At this moment, their scent gland releases pheromones, an Ethaline-based chemical that smells like bananas!  

Each honey super makes 20 pounds of honey. There are three or four honey supers per colony. The average colony creates a surplus of 50 pounds of honey to go through the winter. Bees will distill nectar in honey for the winter. They use honey as a source of carbohydrates and pollen as their source of protein. A feeding of sugar syrup in the fall helps keep the bees on a steady food supply.

So how do bees collect all this honey? The bees have a 3 mile flight radius and around a million flowers produce one ounce of honey. But with tens of thousands of worker bees flying at once, this number appears less daunting, especially since the queen bee lays hundreds of eggs per day. Only the worker bees collect honey, not the drones. The females do most of the work! However, the drones play an important role as keepers of the genetic make-up of the hive. If the hive is destroyed, the drones will preserve the identity of their particular hive.

How does Rushton Farm support a bee population? Among other crops and flowers, we recently planted 600 wildflowers. Wildflower planting is important because the variety of flowers attracts birds, butterflies, bugs, and other wildlife. The farm also relies on the bees to pollinate the crops. Without honey bees, the beautiful harvest below would not take place.

New Season's Resolution

It's here!  The first day of pick-up was today, at long last.  And Rushton Farm never disappoints.  Among other treats, three different kinds of lettuce, glorious beets (which went straight into a 425 degree oven to roast), robust broccoli, and, my personal favorite, garlic scapes.  As an added bonus, we got to see how beautiful the farm looks in advance of tomorrow night's feast.  Hope to see lots of you there!

Back to this week's share.  We are thrilled about the lettuce, as we love salads around here, but we sometimes tire of the same old dressing.  Our resolution this season is going to be to try some new flavors, to mix it up a bit.

We're going to start with this one.  A little spicy, a little tangy and far from ordinary.  Tonight, I am using garlic scapes -- such a fun ingredient and only available this time of year! -- but we will substitute one clove of garlic, crushed, and three spring onions, chopped, when scapes are not in season (or if you have already used them for a different purpose).

Spicy Ginger Salad Dressing
Adapted from http://www.bonappetit.com/recipes/2009/07/field_greens_with_red_chili_dressing

1/4 cup vegetable oil
2 tablespoons unseasoned rice vinegar
1 teaspoon tamari or soy sauce
1 teaspoon Asian sesame oil
1 teaspoon agave nectar (or Rushton Farm honey would be lovely, too)
3 garlic scapes, chopped
1/2 teaspoon peeled fresh ginger, chopped
1 teaspoon Sriracha Chili Sauce (or equivalent)

In a blender, whiz until smooth (about 20 seconds).  Taste and season with salt and pepper, as desired.

Makes about 4 ounces of dressing, or enough to coat about 12 cups of greens.

P.S.  No one in this house is crazy about beet greens (anyone have a good recipe they would like to share?  I'm going to do some investigating, and I'm wondering if my new favorite cookbook, Plenty (Yotam Ottolenghi) might have some answers), but in the meantime, don't they make a gorgeous centerpiece?

Counting Down to the First Harvest

Rushton farm at the end of May is a rich sight. The tall grass is dewy and the soil clings to your shoes and fingers on rainy days. If you walk by the bee hives you can hear the steady hum of the bees.

If I had to pick a theme for today, it would be beets. One of our projects was weeding one succession of beets as well as transplanting beets started in the greenhouse into the field. One of my favorite aspects of beets is their color. Not only does the bulb have a lovely magenta color, but the roots of the beet share that vibrant hue.

When transplanting the beets we used a dibble board so that the right distance between the plants could be observed without manually measuring each distance.  Since beet root blubs are small, we could easily use the hole made by the device.

One of the details we were careful about was completely covering the beets. The soil the beet is grown in dries out faster than clay, thus making it necessary to cover the beet completely. By the way, these holes are not just holes in the earth! This year we are using biodegradable covering made from corn starch as a way to keep the weeds from over taking the fields. You can see this covering in the picture above.  Below: Red Russian, Winterbor.

Another exciting aspect of the day was the quick succession of harvesting, bed prepping, and transplanting; all in the span of a few hours! Although these actions did not all apply to the same plant, I still found it exciting. As we harvested bok choy, I remembered someone mentioning that the water and succulence of bok choy made it fun to harvest. After weeding and prepping the former bok choy bed, we transplanted two varieties of kale: Winterbor kale and Red Russian kale.  This week, we also planted Dinosaur kale, named for its flat leaves, it can be used to make kale chips.

Dibble Board by Claire Staples

The perennial flowers are starting to bloom and before too long will be ready to be arranged into colorful bouquets. Weeding, sewing, transplanting, mulching, and thinning- it all adds up. We are excited for the first harvest this week.

 Natalie Staples
                                                                

                                                                                                                                                            

Coming Attraction

Have you seen these amazing auction items?  Have you heard about the local cheese course?  Have you stopped by the farm lately and seen how spectacular everything is looking?  Have you dusted off your dancing boots and festive country attire?

We can't wait to see you this coming Saturday, June 2, for the Fancy Farm Feast!  

• 5:00 Local wine & cheese tasting, haywagon tours, celebratory remarks   
• 6:30 Farm to plate dinner featuring seasonally inspired dishes prepared by celebrated local chefs

Also, check back this week for more about the first week's harvest and some exciting new posts from Rushton Farm intern, Natalie Staples.

Plant Sale This Weekend

The farm staff is busy planting, planting and more planting. . .

. . . and you can take advantage of the overflow by purchasing their extra plants.

Rushton Farm Spring Plant Sale this weekend, May 5 and 6, from 9 a.m. to 3 p.m.  Organically started vegetables, herbs, and flowers.  For those nights in between your weekly pick-up when you still need to fill your dinner plates.

Simple Green Goddess Dressing

Adapted from www.epicurious.com

1 cup Hellman's mayonnaise

1/4 cup chopped fresh dill

1/4 cup chopped fresh chives

1 small garlic clove, roughly chopped or smashed with side of knife

2 tablespoons chopped fresh tarragon or watercress

2 tablespoons chopped fresh parsley

1 tablespoon white wine vinegar

1 tinned anchovy fillet, chopped

Whizz ingredients together in a blender until smooth.  Taste and season with kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper.  Make ahead; keeps for 1 day in the fridge.  

Delicious over grilled fish, on raw or roasted veggies, or as a festive substitute for cocktail sauce, as a condiment for poached shrimp.

It's Starting. . .

Veggie season is almost here, and these days, the green house is truly a nursery, overflowing with young plants waiting to be transferred to the fields.

CSA members, we look forward to seeing you tonight in your raincoats and boots for a Meet-and-Greet with the farmers.  Find out what Noah is buzzing about.  Come see which farmer is growing something other than plants these days.  Check out Fred's new office.  Learn why the farm staff has been busy buying kiddie pools (no, we won't be seeing family swim at the farm any time soon).  And see who's been using the weed wacker this month.

We'll be posting some exciting information about the farm over the next few weeks, as well as some recipes to make use of the spring harvest, so stay tuned.

In the meantime, mark your calendars for all of the exciting upcoming events:

May 5-6 - Plant sale
May 11-12 - Pretty Big Bird Day
May 29 - First pick-up for CSA Members
June 2 - Fancy Farm Feast

A Touch O' the Green

Waiting for the first crop sure is hungry work.  We decided to make use of some of the lovely hydroponically grown vegetables we've seen in markets around town.  This watercress and blue cheese butter tastes like a bite of spring, with a touch of the British Isles thrown in for a seasonally appropriate indulgence.

This would be divine on homemade Irish soda bread (or Clay's has a delicious version for those short on time), beer bread, or just a Digestive Biscuit (Mrs. McVitties, of course!).  Serve it on thinly sliced white sandwich bread without crusts for an elegant little tea sandwich.

Watercress and Bluecheese Butter
Adapted from The Canal House, Vol. No. 3 (Hamilton, Melissa and Hirsheimer, Christopher)

In a food processor fitted with a knife blade, chop 1 bunch of watercress and 1 bunch of chives.  Add in 4 tablespoons VERY soft unsalted butter (I used Kerrygold, in keeping with St. Patrick's Day) and pulse until just combined.  Add in 6 ounces crumbled blue cheese and 1 generous splash of dry sherry.  Pulse until just combined, about 4-5 pulses.  Taste and season with salt and pepper, although you may not need much salt, depending on the saltiness of the blue cheese.

Turn butter into a bowl and refrigerate to chill.

Makes about 1 cup, but, as the authors suggest, you really ought to double it.  You'll no doubt find plenty of uses.

Spring Has Sprung!

I know, I know: I've cursed us all.  As soon as you write a sentence like that, it is bound to snow the very next day.  And even in Pennsylvania, the odds are good that it's likely to be a real, actual blizzard.  But after the mildest winter we can remember, we are tired of pretending that our snowboots will protect us from anything but mud or that this will be the year for terrific cross-country skiing at Okehocking.  Plus, we just used up the last of our oven-dried plum tomatoes from the freezer.  We say, bring on the spring.

Rumor has it, the spring planting at Rushton Farm is already well underway.  To whet your appetites, in addition to the photo, above, from the Rushton Farm herb garden last spring, here are some important dates to mark in your calendars.


May 5-6, Plant Sale at Rushton Farm
May 29, First CSA Pick Up at Rushton Farm
June 2, Celebrating Rushton, a Fancy Farm Dinner

Stay tuned for an update from Farmer Fred and some recipes incorporating the gorgeous spring ingredients starting to crop up all over town, plus a few things stowed away from last autumn.  Get ready for a new season at Rushton Farm!