I Heart Farms

What's Your Religion?

I spent the better part of the weekend in the company of some of the most inspiring people in the world. It was the 40th reunion of the UCSC farm program—now called the Center for Agroecology and Sustainable Food Systems. For 40 years, people have "apprenticed" there, to learn to farm sustainably. They have slept in tents, teepees, yurts, and on rare occasions (such as the young man from Uganda, who could not tolerate the unnatural cold), a trailer.

For forty years, the graduates have gone out into the large world and done work to bring sustainable agriculture—one-acre farms in the middle of urban areas, some right next to highway, others in prison programs—to places that need it badly.

I will have to write more about it later, but I will say this. These people, and this work, is what church SHOULD be like. It's what religions should strive for. It's what every person alive, possessed of a good conscience and heart, should be supporting.

I lost several coats of mascara in the inspiring presentations.

Last night, there was a feast, originally for 500 people, which soon expanded to 600. There were two long tables—with nearly a hundred bouquets—set between rows of fruit trees, and then the apprentices (the students) went and found even more. There were the most lavish and creative foods pouring out of the makeshift kitchens: grills and the occasional gas burner did the work of feeding an army.

I am too tired to write about all of it, but you will hear more on these pages because honestly, I found my religion. No, I won't be a farmer, but I'll keep coming to the church of Alan Chadwick.

More on it all soon. It was, in a word, heaven.

THOUGHT FOR THE DAY: “I feel no need for any other faith than my faith in the kindness of human beings. I am so absorbed in the wonder of earth and the life upon it that I cannot think of heaven and angels.” — Pearl S. Buck

Thank you for visiting, as ever. And thank you to all the new people: some kind of critical mass has been achieved, or some huge shift, because all of a sudden, twice in the past month, I have had a huge spike in visitors. The first time it was because of Betty Van Dyke's Blenheim apricots, but the rest of the time, it's been a little of everything. I've got well over twice the traffic I had a year ago, and I can only believe that people like to see beauty that is real, and to read about people who are working to make the world a better (and tastier!) place.

Just Peachy, and Maggie Nemser Is a Real Person

I am here to announce the single greatest sandwich invention in the history of time. Well, in my life, anyway. I was so buried in work (and e-mails, laughing nervously about my recent rants on marketing ninnies and Corporate Doublespeak, and the ills of factory-farmed meats) that I missed breakfast. And lunch. And showering and dressing...the joys of working at home.

Late in the afternoon, the heat just passing, I remembered some sliced Sonoma jack-blue cheese I had bought, and thought it would make a great grilled sandwich. (Grilled as in "toasted in a frying pan with butter on the outside.") Meanwhile, knowing the cheese would be way salty on its own, I looked at the fat, red Brandywine tomatoes I'd gotten from Happy Boy Farms this weekend—I needed something tangy with a bite of sweet to balance the blue. But I kept going back to the refrigerator, preoccupied with other things—do you do this? Stand there in front of an open door, close the door, and the next thing you know, you find yourself with the handle in your hand yet again, gazing into an open refrigerator.

There on a plate sat two huge ripe peaches that I knew I should eat, but didn't want the accompanying mess (down my arms, into the sink, etcetera), especially since the yellowjackets are at their worst this year. In a flash of pure lightning, the inspiration came: grilled cheese sandwich with sliced peaches. And lots of fresh basil leaves, with a little mayonnaise, on sourdough bread.

Here, in all caps, for the cue cards:

GRILLED SANDWICH WITH SONOMA JACK-BLUE CHEESE,
SLICED PEACHES, LOTS OF FRESH BASIL LEAVES,
AND A LITTLE MAYONNAISE, ON SOURDOUGH BREAD

Best thing I've eaten in so long. Such new flavors, but hauntingly old: summer, and the aroma of warm peaches drifting up into my nose with each bite, and the salty tang of the blue cheese, like a travel brochure to another land. This was truly something to savor: make one for yourselves soon.

Let me know if you think you improved upon it. This is a "less is more" kind of sandwich, as the peach was just perfect.

• • • • • • • • • •

I got a comment on my blog today from someone named 'Morgan" (I can't tell you how I dread seeing that name in my in-box, since I am always afraid that Morgan Christopher will rear his head again)... and laughed out loud when I read the chastising I got.

Bye, Bye, Miss American Lamb Board Pie: A New Rant

Pictured here: Rebecca King's lambs at Deep Roots Ranch. Not for dinner!

While enjoying a warm and lazy summer morning here, I squeezed in a little time to catch up on my Bloglines subscriptions.

It seems that an entity called "The American Lamb Board" is pimping lamb, and I mean pimping hard. They even have themselves a very non-profit sounding ".org" on their website. StephenCooks, whom I not only admire but LIKE (really really like) wondered if the American Lamb Board was on the up and up, and asked Farmgirl Susan, of the incredibly popular Farmgirl Fare blog, to add her two cents. The most important thing she said was this: "But of course, naturally raised, grass-fed lamb that is hopefully locally produced is not as easy to come by--and it's going to cost more than the stuff at your average supermarket whether it's American or not. Unless it's marked otherwise, supermarket lamb will most likely come from animals fattened up quickly on grain in feedlots."

Stephen wasn't the only blogger to accept free lamb (nothing wrong with freebies!) from the American Lamb Board, and who blogged about it. So did these good folks:

Amuse Bouche
Livin' La Vida Low-Carb
White Trash Barbeque
Get Your Grill On
Christine Cooks
Kalyn's Kitchen
Simply Recipes

Having recently been buzzed by marketers to pimp their products, I was already on Cynical Red Alert mode. I suspected unholy (or at least, unhealthy) alliances, especially when I saw that Fleishman-Hillard was involved.

For those who read my recent post about "Moove Your Ass Out of Here, Evil Marketing Idiots," you may remember Fleishman-Hillard's unsuccessful attempt, back in November, to get me to market the idiotic "Healthy Mr. Potato Head" for the National Potato Board. The upshot of these two stings is that I am even more cynical than ever about doublespeak and marketing buzzwords. Any kind of "national board" has me going straight to the website to sniff around for the inevitable stink of corporate inhumanity, and evidence of tainted political connections.

I didn't have to look long.

Treasures and Pleasures

Who needs iPhones and expensive shoes and international travel, when right in my own backyard, our padrón pepper plants are putting forth these jewels?

We only have two plants, but I anticipate an entire row of them next year. This was our first real picking: I'd impatiently picked six small ones earlier in the week, just so we could get the taste back in our mouths again. And we introduced them to a certain little boy who live here, and he pronounced them "Yumma, Nana!" Bob said, "I don't know if I really want to share them among three people. Two is bad enough."

Roasting them was fun: I used the blowtorch.

This is just a short post to invite farm lovers to something (short notice!) at Everett Family Farm tomorrow (it's on Old San Jose Road in Soquel, about two miles from the intersection of Soquel Drive and Porter Street/Old San Jose Road). Mike and Teresa are hosting a work party and a potluck BBQ. Details follow.

Liking What I See

Pictured here: our little grandson, Logan, who is nearly three and a half.

Regular readers know that he lives with us, and that I try to take him to all the farms with me. But it's been a while since I've written about him, and I hate to do his cult following such a disservice.

Logan is such a love: we call him the Light of Zartha. He's so funny: Bob and I were holding hands the other morning after we woke up, and Logan grabbed his arm. "You need to stop HANDING her, Poppy. I don't want you to HAND her!"

And he's compassionate. We were watching a nature show about leopards. One leopard, who had been hunting a huge herd of muscular water buffalos, turned into the forest. There he found a baby buffalo, which he killed and carried by its neck up into a tree. Logan was on the verge of tears, and said, "I want him to kill the dangerous things, not the things that run away!"

No kidding, huh?

We've been going to farmers markets and loving the summer. As one woman said at the little farmers market on East Cliff Drive yesterday, "I love this time of year. We eat the best." She was scooping up handfuls of Joe Schirmer's haricot verts. (So was I.)

I Heart Synchronicity

Pictured here: some of the exquisite bouquets from Blue Heron Farm, yesterday at the downtown Santa Cruz farmers market.

A few days ago, I took my laptop to the Saturday west side farmers market, to show some friends photos that will be in the calendar. I noticed Todd Smith, who usually works the Frog Hollow Farm prepared foods booth, surrounded by a whole lot of shiny new stainless steel, in the form of a gleaming new coffee cart.

Moove Your Ass Out of Here, Evil Marketing Idiots.

I can usually spot 'em coming, but this one fooled me.

Hello! I first found your blog a few weeks ago. I enjoyed your post about the Summer Meadows farm. I am helping MoovetoAmerican.org promote All American products. Thursday we floated our Bovine Barge, a barge with 30 American cows on board, to Ellis Island as a demonstration of our support for American Beef and A&W restaurants which serves only US Beef. I thought you might be interested in seeing the video here:   

http://moovetoamerican.org/index.html <---THIS WEBSITE IS DEAD NOW, as of April, 2008, but you can go to their public press release page here.

Thanks for the great posts!

Rebecca <---- hey folks, that's a LIVE e-mail address! Use it! Use it now!

www.MoovetoAmerican.org
Join the Moovement! Support American Beef.
Mark Your Calendar for June 28th Moovement

Maybe because her name was Rebecca, and I've never met a Rebecca I didn't like. Or maybe it was because she specified a post she liked. At any rate, my radar didn't go off until I clicked the link to MoovetoAmerican.org. Go ahead, click it. I'll wait.

Lady Farmers Rock

We arrived late in the afternoon at Everett Family Farm yesterday, only to find the farmstand closed. I had two little boys and Logan's mother with me, and we wanted to get some eggs. So we went down to the fields below, and found Teresa Kurtak walking towards her car with a 5-gallon bucket of larkspur balanced on her head, looking for all the world like a young woman going to wash her family's clothes in the river. We moved into the shade so I could photograph her, but before she had time to pose, I took a few practice shots for the light. This is a "practice" shot.

It's my new favorite photo. Isn't she beautiful?

WOO HOO!!!! Farmers Market Calendars!

I am very excited with a project that is coming to fruition. Thanks to the support of some amazing people, my photographs of some beautiful farmers markets are going to be in a calendar. It's going to press this week, and will begin distribution in a month or so.

I've got local distribution (farmers markets and bookstores), and I'll have a spot on the publisher's website where you can purchase them with Paypal.

That's all for now, but I'm so excited I had to share it.

THOUGHT FOR THE DAY: "I've been on a calendar, but I've never been on time.” —Marilyn Monroe

Thanks for visiting.

In Which I Am a Cynic

Pictured here: the farmstand at my local farm, Everett Family Farm, where I went yesterday instead of the west side farmers market. The traffic was terrible. I came home with eggs, strawberries, sugar snap peas, carrots, and basil. One of the eggs was a double-yolker.

So. Confession.

I don't know how long you have been online, but I first got onto the internet in 1993. (Before that, back in 1989, we were among the first members of Mac-only AOL.)

Back in the very earliest days of the internet proper, there were only a handful of websites with any kind of content and style, and mostly you could surf for hours, encountering grey background after grey background, flash tags, and "Under Construction" icons so ugly they'd make your eyes bleed. Back in the day, when I was known as Diotima, and "Diotima's Evolution" (complete with "Diotima's Discoveries": gorgeous guys who constituted .000001% of the cuteness then available on the internet) had its day in the sun. It was fun, and I am sometimes nostalgic for the quietude.