when the soil swoons

when i watch you my heart skips, in that way that all of your kind describe those feelings of adoration of which i, too, have few words to choose. you are bending over the beds of garlic, and with one hand you are pushing snow aside. cheeks flushed, you burrow your fingers beneath the straw. to you, you are alone, and i can feel your aloneness by the way you do not smile when you find that tender green shoot. but i see you and my heart breaks into a thousand fractures for the way you sniffle and the way your boots are too loose and the tiny gasps of sunlight from the garlic and the squeaking of the worm and the crackle of the frost and the silence of the pebble. you are never alone, and never were, but i see in your sad eyes and hunched shoulders that your mind is busy telling you otherwise.
i am in love with you in this moment, just as i am in love with all that tunnels and rests and roots in my body. i am what you tenderly touch, in search for your sprouting seed. it is i that thaws in the afternoon, i that sighs with the rain in my bones, i that never sleeps but always shifting, spreads webs of life across this field. i love you and i try to tell you with each puddle that reflects your tall body crossing over. i send you love letters written in the rows of green and red speckled lettuce leaves, written in the crumbling crumbs of compost, written with flower stems, flower petals, amaranth seeds – all fallen to the ground, a rainbow tapestry at your feet. i bow to you and you to me.

with love,
the soil


dear self


 photo by josh horniak

wake up.
do it now.
waiting is no longer an option.
in your smile hides the goddess
for which you’ve always longed
in your shoulders, pulled back
your chest open and stretched
there is the seed of the light you seek,
the strength you think you lack.

rest now.
waking up is not a crazy dance
a leap off a cliff, the ocean’s edge
or crying out the story of your life
it is a simple moment beyond all that
and a simple moment before the music
starts back up again.

curl your body into the peace of
that moment
float there and take note of the way
your hand moving
stirs up the phosphorescence
take note but take no notes
writing has no place here.

show your teeth now.
people are lining up to see
those rounded rows
and remember
some will gasp, some will cower,
others will wink, flashing their own grin –
keep smiling
wisdom should not be hidden

remember what it was like,
those days of tight-lipped striving
towards something that was not you
and let a child crawl into your lap.
stroke her hair
and speak to her
as you would a woman
so that she remembers
when she finally wakes up
to her own years lost
that voice
that knew her at her truest.

undo the string
threaded gingerly thru your chest
and lose the pace
that once pulled you forward
even in your sleep

instead, look forward
and speak your knowing
to the air, the madrones,
the river, your lover, your parents,
your cast iron pan

feel the freedom of a castle
without wall or moat
built by stones
chosen by your own hands.

– maisie 11/26/13

Picking Flowers in the Evening

July 7th, 2013

Today my laundry flaps in the breeze outside my window. In the corner of my yard the peach tree droops heavy with fruit. Julius lays under the trailer, paws and nose against the cool earth there, passing the heat of the day. I’ve just eaten lunch – fresh salad mix with roasted beets from the solar oven, lightly toasted walnuts from our friends at farmer’s market, a simple balsamic dressing with our own olive oil. I have a typewriter now, and I look longingly at it from my perch over the lit-up letters of the keyboard. Lately I have been charmed by the click and clack of this classic machine over the conventional hum and slightly eerie glow of the computer. But for all its enchanting qualities, widely disseminated newsletters and blog posts aren’t it’s forte, and so it silently sits, awaiting my next love letter instead.

There is a bouquet on my window-sill that I admire when I look up from my writing, Tassels of red grass bursting like fireworks from a mountain of bright orange calendula, spidery blue nigella, and yellow fading to burnt orange rudbeckia. Tomorrow night Willow and i will begin harvesting for the first flower pick up for our CSA members. Summer is undoubtedly here with the dahlias opening for the first time at misty meadows, the pincushion flowers bursting with light purples and dark maroon blooms, and even the first sunflowers unfurling their yellow petals. Only a few months ago we were unsure of this latest farm plan – to break from the familiar vegetable CSA and just grow flowers and salad mix. But yesterday, when we sent off a very happy father-of-the-bride with twenty over-flowing buckets of mixed flowers for his daughters wedding – we figured that it’s all going to work out just fine. And when i returned yet again from our saturday farmer’s market, having sold all of what we had brought, and then tallied, out of curiosity, how much salad mix we’ve sold thus far, I suddenly felt like maybe Willow and I can put an end, once and for all, to our occasional lapses into questioning if we’re proper farmers.

To date we’ve sold 561 pounds of salad mix. Add to that the estimated 80 pounds we’ve eaten amongst ourselves and friends thus far this season, and that means we’ve harvested upwards of 640 pounds of salad mix since April. That’d be a lot of miles to walk, or a lot of sheep to herd, or a lot of puppies to pet, but it’s certainly a lot of frilly, almost weightless leaves to pick, wash, spin-dry, and eat. I think this season’s going to be a good one.

I realized that the last time I wrote the tomatoes were dying, sweet peas were being planted, hearts were mending, and gratitude abounded. This is an overdue update. Today we’ve got five rows of tomatoes thanks to our friend’s at Hidden Villa Farm, trellised almost up to our heads; hearts that are becoming ever more clear, flexible, and open; sweet peas growing faster then we can pick them, and continued sense of gratitude that deepens with the passing of each day.

To the river, to the flowers, to leisurely sunday mornings, to the laughter of close friends, to santa rosa plums, to early morning harvests with Willow after she’s had coffee, to handsome dogs and to typewriters – I give thanks. And thank you for being a part of this farm in whatever capacity you are.


A Blessed Visit By Lady Death

today i opened the greenhouse, moved the brick into place to keep the door open in the wind, and said hello to the plants. i say good morning to them like they are babies in a nursery, which they are, and when i water them i sing the song from babe, the movie from the mid-90’s about the talking pig. “If i had words to make a day for you, I’d sing you a morning golden and true…” I really sing to each one, hoping they’ll hear, hoping they’ll stretch their tiny veined leaves toward my voice.

the plants are all small, but its still april, right? there are marigolds that show the promise of life, tiny frilled leaves on red pin legs. the starflower, my favorite, and of which we only had a dozen seeds, have all germinated and their flat fat leaves plump out encouragingly. but the tomatoes look like death – yellow and stunted in their plastic pots, leaves tugged upwards like tense shoulders. this could almost pass a regular greenhouse, regular plants, had we planted them last week. but only willow and i know that they have looked this way, and about this size, for almost a month. we botched it on the soil mix, or maybe the watering, or maybe that cold snap right after we potted up, or maybe the potassium (isn’t there enough in the kelp?), or maybe, or maybe. all i know is that there’s no turning back. our friends are helping us by brewing up batches of compost tea for foliar spraying. we’ve got stinging nettles soaking in a bucket, and we lovingly apply the putrid mixture once a day. i would say that i’ve asked god for a little help, but i haven’t. i gave up that sort of control years ago when i decided to be a farmer.

its fitting, this greenhouse meltdown. i returned to nevada city only a couple months ago, in a meltdown partially of my own making. i looked a lot like these tomatoes – pale, spindly, drooping, sad. the love i had moved up to the northwest to grow had also died a slow, though equally obvious, death, and i came back to the farm defeated and depleted. it was just in time to plant tomatoes. it was also just in time to not plant tomatoes, if i weren’t a farmer, which at that point, i didn’t know anymore. i had left thinking i could take a year off from a vocation that now sings in my bloodstream. i came back not knowing what the hell i was thinking.

willow and i planted sweet peas the first day of my return, because even if i wasn’t a farmer, i would still plant sweet peas. it felt good, to press the stainless steel digging fork into the earth, to draw the line in the soil with my hand, to press the moist seed into it and cover it with crab-claw hands. i know i cried the morning before i did that. i can be sure that i also cried multiple times that afternoon. but while planting, i didn’t cry. so i followed the guidance of my hands and my broken heart, stopped wondering what i was or wasn’t anymore, and i planted a few hundred tomatoes in the greenhouse.

meanwhile willow and i fell back into the rhythm of the farm. we talked flowers. we talked plant starts, marketing, timing, relationships, all while seeding and prepping the beds of the garden. i cried a lot at the river, in the arms of my friends, alone in the morning in my trailer. but during the day i had to stand upright to push the fork into the ground; had to wield my pruners with precision, cut back the dead stalks from the perennials; had to call restaurants and talk enthusiastic about our product. yes, we grow beautiful salad mix. yes, i can commit to harvesting it for you every week. yes, you want us. believe me, you want us.

the dirt returned to the creases in my hands. i’m not sure if i gained any weight, but i felt fuller and rounder. i started wearing my city-clothes on the farm, those few items that i had thought to “save” so that i had “some clean options” for “going out.” i was going out, every day, into the field, fixing the irrigation line and then wiping my filthy hands on my thighs. i came home after working with straw on my sweatshirt and in my hair, from laying down between the beds and watching the clouds.

we potted up the tomatoes and brassicas just before i left to go down to the desert on a trip. after so many weeks and months of pain, pulling into san francisco to pick up Chris felt like i had just escaped from the psych ward, found my other half-crazed pal, and now had nothing left to do but listen to Kelly Clarkson and Taylor Swift break up in true diva style. Chris and i laughed for days. and in between mediating, yoga-ing, climbing rocks, and making new friends – the sadness lifted. i slept through the night. i woke up thinking about mundane things. i woke up not thinking much about anything.

i came back to the farm and saw that it too had grown up overnight. favas a foot higher. garlic leaves thick and green. the grass in the aisles tall enough to mow. the tomatoes looked the same, but it was still early, and plus i was too happy to notice. i went dancing almost every night. we got our order of dahlias, lillies, and gladiolas in the mail. we trellised the sweet peas, now poking through the straw mulch. the tomatoes seemed unmoved by spring fever. i woke up every morning feeling grateful. i danced my friends baby around her living room. i felt satisfied to end the day munching on salad mix in my trailer, reading a book, and going to bed at 9. i also stayed out late dancing, moving my whole body, flirting with whomever i pleased.

the tomatoes sat, forlorn, stunted, unmoving. we applied some diluted fish emulsion. wrong. they yellowed, maybe even more, or maybe they were on the cusp anyways. we called our friends on other farms. they gave a balanced mix of their insights and condolences. we tried not to think about it, but spraying nettle tea and singing to dying things can be slightly disconcerting.

which brings us to today. i’ve awoken from the first, and most self-absorbed, leg of heartbreak just in time to notice the death of something else. our greenhouse is dying, and like the demise of a relationship formerly full of wonder and potential, its just a big fucking bummer. it isn’t anyones fault. there’s no need nor evidence to suggest that it is anyone’s fault. its just that things need to die to make room for new life.

i am ultimately grateful that those tomatoes that came to life under my shaky hands. that they grew from seed to tiny plant, that they even sprouted at all, was more encouraging than any therapy session or even kind word. they must have been watching me, those feisty buggers. they must have noticed that when i returned from the desert, i had grown tall and luscious, abundant and green. they did their job and gave their lives for it. the tomato is an honorable vegetable that way. self-sacrificing at every step of the way. this time, instead of giving their round and red fruits, they gave their very heartbeat.

thank you tomatoes. thank you for your unexpected gift. thank you for coming into this world just long enough to inspire me to be grateful for the fact that i am alive, upright, and capable of growing up towards the light.

love, maisie

Our Last CSA Pick-up and Newsletter

Something to look forward to next spring!

Something to look forward to next spring!

Fall has definitely arrived here in the foothills with the first rain storm last week.  Three days of a deluge, and now beautiful, crisp, sunny days and fire-time nights.  All the oaks are turning yellow, the days short and sweet.  Halloween approaches next week and close on its heels, Thanksgiving, the epitome of fall harvest and abundance.  It’s a time for gratitude (of course, any time really is) to the earth, the sun, the soil, everything that conspires to bring us this incredible nourishment.  It’s such a mystery and such a simple thing, yet think about the miracle of planting a seed and the seed unfolding into a spreading pumpkin plant.  It’s pretty amazing.  This time of year, my pantry is full of canned and dried foods, potatoes and winter squash precariously stacked in the corner of my bathroom, and the freezer jammed to the point of things falling out when I open it.  I feel so safe, so securely provisioned for the winter.  A full pantry and a full woodshed at the onset of November are the definition of wealth in my opinion.

And now, sitting on my couch, watching the afternoon sun through the window grace the ridge across the valley, I want to express my gratitude to all our wonderful CSA members.  Thank you for supporting us this season with your money and time.  Thank you for investing in small, local farms and trying things you may have never tried before.  Thank you so much for coming with your bags and boxes every week and oohing and aahing over the veggies.  Maisie and I couldn’t have done  it without you!

Enjoy the last harvest and get some cozy time this winter!



Anticipated Harvest:

  • lettuce
  • boc choi
  • kale/collards/chard
  • cilantro/parsley/dill
  • pumpkins!
  • parsnips
  • carrots
  • garlic

Pumpkin Doughnut Holes:

My friend Stephanie Rosenbaum is a great chef and cookbook author and recently sent me this recipe, which I plan on trying as soon as possible.  I recommend you do to!  For Pumpkin Doughnut Holes click here.

Parsnips: I like to roast my parsnips in a simple fashion.  Just cut them into small chunks coat with olive oil and salt and roast in the oven until soft and slightly crispy around the edges.  They are also great in chicken soup.


Its Raining Cats and Dogs! And, Apparently, Tornadoes.

Wow oh geez oh my, its really coming down! Julius and I are tucky tucked into the trailer, warm tea in hand and freshly baked pumpkin muffins on the counter. Today I have been dreaming about Baja. Today I have been anticipating tomorrow’s wet harvest. Today marks almost a week until our season is over and the wide-open expanse of winter awaits! Which means only one more CSA pick up after this one. Take note dear members, and be sure to come collect tomorrow, as we’ll have butternut squash that you will not want to miss! Rain or shine we’ll be there!

Anticipated Harvest: Butternut Squash, Garlic, Cilantro or Dill or Parsley, Bok Choi, Chard or Collards or Kale, Green Tomatoes (and maybe even some red ones), Tomatillos, Carrots, Broccoli or Cabbage! I may be forgetting something, but I’m not about to go out there in my skivvies and check!

Fried Green Tomatoes!

This recipe was given to us by our Living Lands Intern, Katie. Another intern, Lauryn, ate these the other day, and said, “It might just have been the best thing I have ever eaten.” Enough said.

Green Tomatoes, A few cups of corn flour, corn meal, and garbanzo flour mixed (can use white flour too, but this mixture makes for good crispiness), 4-6 eggs, Dash of milk or buttermilk, Cayenne, salt, pepper, and Canola Oil

Cut large green tomatoes into 1/2 inch slices Sprinkle lightly with salt and let sit for 10 minutes (this sweats some moisture and bitterness out) For the breading process pull out three bowls, in the first, put a few cups of chickpea flour. In the second, put 4-6 eggs and a dash of milk or buttermilk (whisk together well). In the third, mix chickpea flour, cornmeal, corn flour, and salt and pepper (can add a dash of cayenne as well), mix together well. Place each tomato slice in the first bowl, turn the tomato so it has a nice layer of flour attached to it, shake it off and then move it to the second bowl. Coat it with the egg mixture and allow the excess to drip back into the bowl. Place in the third bowl and pat the flour mixture onto the tomato slice, making sure to get the sides of the tomato as well. Gently shake off the excess flour, and place the tomato on parchment paper until you are ready to fry. Repeat this process for each tomato slice until they are all breaded. For the frying process, heat up a 1/2 inch layer of canola oil (or other high heat option) in a cast iron pan, until it has the consistency of water. Place as many tomato slices into the pan as will fit in one layer and allow to fry, flipping once, until both sides are a healthy golden brown. Place in a low oven on parchment paper until all of them are fried and ready to eat. If oil starts to brown, pour out and replace with fresh oil. Top with Meg’s cashew sauce and enjoy!

Meg’s Cashew Sauce:

  • 2 cups roasted, unsalted cashews
  • 2-4 red jalapenos (cored and seeded), diced
  • 1 bunch cilantro (leaves only)
  • 2:1 honey to vinegar (add until you are satisfied with the flavor)

Blend the cilantro and jalapenos in a small food processor, add some of the nuts (~1/2 cup) on top of the veggies and continue to process until the mixture is well blended and somewhat pasty. Remove the mixture from the processor and put in a bowl. Add the rest of the nuts to the processor and blend until chunky. Pour the chopped nuts on top of the veggie blend and mix together. Add honey and vinegar in a 2:1 ratio until the sauce has a sticky consistency and you are happy with the level of sweet and sourness. Enjoy!


This is the opposite of what it looks like today.

This is the opposite of what it looks like today.

CSA Newsletter!


Harvesting squash in the autumn sunlight!

Here’s to pumpkins, here’s to fall, and here’s to curling up in front of a fire with your sweetie, drinking hot drinks and watching the rain squall.  That’s my plan, as soon as it starts to rain that is.  We just planted cover crop this morning, and our irrigation water from the NID ditch turned off last week for the winter.  So now we are waiting patiently for the rain, waiting for it to wake up all those little bean, vetch, and rye seeds.  For now they are cloaked under a layer of rich soil, and hopefully the birds won’t find them as it’s likely to be another week of dry, 80 degree weather.

Thus is the farmers lament, it’s dry when you want it to rain, and wet when you want it to be dry.  And you just really have no control over it.  Over the last five years of farming in earnest, one lesson that’s hit me over the head over and over again is non-attachment.  Farming is the ultimate test in faith.  You do everything you can do, and then hope for the best.  Sometimes, a huge hail storm comes in June and takes down all your tomato plants.  Sometimes a foreign pest sneaks into your field and eats all your seed potatoes just a week after you’ve planted them.

I’ve seen an evolution time and time again, of a first-year farmer falling to pieces over things like this to three years into it realizing that you just can’t let it faze you.  This has been my journey, and I’m finally coming to realize that no matter what the circumstances, something is going to go wrong, and something is going to surprise you with its success.  Of course, life is like this, and of course there are a million analogies one could make to practice this age-old wisdom of the buddhists.  But it really is the key to success and happiness.  I know it.  Because when I think back on all those times of hardship or pain, it was because my expectations were firmly cemented into my head.  When expectation is fluid, joy can find you in the most unusual of places.

much love and autumn sunshine,


anticipated harvest:

  • carrots
  • lettuce
  • boc choi
  • tatsoi/turnips
  • sunshine kabocha winter squash
  • basil
  • summer squash
  • kale/chard/collards
  • shallots
  • garlic

the last of the tomatoes/peppers/eggplant/cucumbers

The shallots are still green (they still have the green tops on them) and make for a delicious salad dressing.  Just throw the shallot greens in a blender or food processor with some olive oil, balsamic vinegar and a little salt and puree.  You get a delicious, creamy, green-goddess-like dressing.

The Kabocha squash is one of my all-time favorites.  Just cut up, scoop out the seeds and bake in the oven for about an hour.  You get a delicious, sweet, dry-textured squash, much like a chestnut.  I like to just eat them plain, but with a little butter they are divine!


Squish squash squadoodle, the squash have arrived! Big round orange pie ones. Tan heavy buttery ones. Small striped sweet thin-skinned ones. Squat rich dark-fleshed heavenly ones…

Squish squash squadoodle, the squash have arrived! Big round orange pie ones. Tan heavy buttery ones. Small striped sweet thin-skinned ones. Squat rich dark-fleshed heavenly ones…


Look at this picture from this same date last year. Totally raining. And look at all those unprepared and inappropriately dressed farmers! Turns out that tossing squash during the first rain is just as much fun as jumping in puddles!

Look at this picture from this same date last year. Totally raining. And look at all those unprepared and inappropriately dressed farmers! Turns out that tossing squash during the first rain is just as much fun as jumping in puddles!

I am excited to give you squash during these next few weeks. Sometimes people get intimidated when they go to cook a squash. I tell them not to worry so much, you can’t get any easier than preparing a squash. And for starters we are giving you the delicate delicata squash to try. Just cut it lengthwise in half, scoop out the seeds, drizzle with olive oil and sea salt, put the two sides face down on a baking dish in the oven and put some water in the bottom of the pan too, and bake at 350 until the squash is soft and maybe even a little browned on the bottom. Wahla! Flip over, put on a plate, fill with sauteed onions, kale, and quinoa, or just eat plain.

This Week’s Harvest:

Lettuce, Kale/Collards/Chard, Tomatoes (the last of ‘em), Peppers, Eggplant, Tomatillos, Sweet Turnips/Bok Choi, Parsley/Basil, Rainbow Sparkly Potato (we named ‘em), Purple Mist Garlic (also named ‘em), and DELICATA SQUASH! Enjoy!


CSA Newsletter

Some beautiful potatoes for you!

Some beautiful potatoes for you!

This week we are harvesting our potatoes for the first time, and hope to have a generous haul to give out to the CSA.  Potatoes are a truly versatile crop.  You can plant them in the fall (if you have a warm, well-drained area) and again in the spring.  You can harvest them new, or wait until the plants have died back and the skins have toughened.  You can also easily save seed, as to plant potatoes you merely plant a piece of a potato that has a few eyes.  There are literally thousands (close to 4,000 according to Wikipedia) varieties of potatoes, ranging in all kinds of beautiful colors from pale pink to deep indigo.  Harvesting potatoes is one of my favorite activities on the farm.  Sink the shovel into the soil, upheave the dirt and sift through to find the round, knobbed treasures.  Hopefully you haven’t cut through any potatoes, or the gophers haven’t found them first.

Here’s a nod to the proud and noble potato by Pablo Neruda, noting aptly the politics of the origins of the potato in South America, and it being one of the many treasures plundered by the conquistadors of Spain.

Ode to the potato

you are called
not potahto;
you were not born with a beard,
you are not Castillian.
You are dark
our skin;
we are Americans,
we are Indians.

You are
gentle and profound,
pure pulp, a pure
white rose;
you flower there inside
the earth,
are showered by
of wet islands,
by tempestuous Chile,
by the Chilean sea,
an emerald that pours
its green light
out upon the austral ocean.

of the earth,
the sediment
does not possess
dead metals;
there, in the obscure
softness of the islands,
no one fights for
copper and its submerged
or the blue cruelty
of magnesium.
Hands planted you
in the moist ground
as though stocking a nest.
And when
the thunder
of that evil
the Spanish
black as an eagle of the grave,
sought savage gold
in the burning
of the Araucanias,
its greedy
were exterminated,
its leaders
and when
the poor ruined captains
to stony Castile
in their hands they raised
not a golden goblet
but a potato
from the Chilean sea.

You are honorable
that till the soil,
a hen
you’re a member of the family,
are compact as a cheese
that the earth pours out
from its nourishing
enemy of hunger,
in all
you’ve planted
your victorious and ready
in frozen land or in the ground
of burning coastlines
your anonymous flower
has appeared,
announcing the thick
and steady
birth rate of your roots.

Universal delight,
you don’t await
my song,
for you are deaf
and blind
and buried.
Cooked in an inferno
of oil
you scarcely speak,
nor do you sing
in the fried-fish shops
of the harbours;
when close to the guitars
you are silent, potato,
meal of the subterranean
interminable treasure-trove
of the people.

Anticipated Harvest:

  • potatoes!
  • tomatoes
  • eggplant
  • peppers
  • lettuce
  • tomatillos
  • turnips
  • parsley/celery
  • onions
  • garlic
  • kale/collards
  • cucumbers

Kale is one of my favorite vegetables.  It is so versatile and delicious, I can usually include it whatever I’m cooking. It’s also extremely nutritious and easy to grow.  I encourage you all to start experimenting with kale if you don’t like it yet.  The fall kale is coming on strong and should be particularly sweet and tender these last few weeks of CSA.

Kale with raisins and toasted pine nuts (from Greens Glorious Greens)

  • 1/4 cup toasted pine nuts
  • 3/4 pounds kale (about 6 cups, chopped)
  • 2 cups water
  • 2 tsps good olive oil
  • 2 garlic cloves, minced
  • 1/3 cup raisins
  • salt to taste
  1. To toast pine nuts, place on a cookie sheet or pie tin and bake at 325 for 5 minutes or until golden brown.  Take care not to burn them.
  2. Wash kale and strip off stalks.  Roughly chop kale.  Bring the water to a boil in a 10 or 12 inch skillet with a tightly fitting lid.  Add kale and cook, covered, over high heat, stirring occasionally, until tender, approximately 5 minutes.  Remove and drain, saving the cooking liquid to drink.
  3. Rinse out and dry the skillet, then use it to heat the olive oil over medium heat, lifting and tilting the pan to coat.  Add garlic and saute for 15 seconds.  Add raisins and saute for 30 seconds to one minute, stirring constantly to prevent browning or burning.  Raisins should be glossy and slightly puffed.
  4. Add greens and stir to combine.  Season with salt to taste and cover for a minute until greens are heated through.  Serve hot, garnished with the toasted pine nuts.



oh yeah, organic farming is HOT!







So now you want to be a part of our blog, do you?

Let these photos entice you into signing up to get our weekly newsletter (and avoid the reduntancy of emailing you to check your blog) and inspire you to eat the following from our fields:

September 25th

Greens – Chard, Kale, Collards

Tomatoes, Eggplant, Peppers. Tomatillos Hurrah!


Garlic and Onions

Cucumbers, maybe Basil


Sorry for the vagaries in the harvest list, willow and I have both been gone and it is much too dark to go poke around in the field. But expect abundance, per usual. Abundant sexiness I mean…

Love, Maisie

See what's happening on our farm: