Ah, the weekend! Time to put aside the demands of the workweek and reconnect with the world outside the office.
The weekend is a perfect time to explore the simple pleasures of Restoration Farm. Tucked into every corner of the farm, there’s a new discovery to be found. A sun-drenched visit is a feast for the senses.
Not many realize that the asparagus field is just to the side of the dirt road leading to the historic Powell homestead. This farmland was first purchased from Native Americans in 1695.
Poking out of mounds of soil and mulch are thick green stalks of asparagus. Asparagus is a flowering perennial, and these are as local as local gets. They decorate the field like sharp pencils emerging from the earth.
Back at the storage cooler, there are fat packets of asparagus waiting for members to take home. They will be enjoyed for dinner, sprinkled with salt and pepper, drizzled with olive oil and simply roasted.
Nearby, the brilliant red baubles of the strawberry field are peaking out from beneath bright green leaves. The strawberry season is a bright and shining moment at the start of the summer.
I get to the field early to pick a pint. The berries are still sprinkled with raindrops from last night’s passing storm. Warmed by the sun, red through-and-through and impossibly sweet, here too, simplicity is key to enjoying these homegrown strawberries.
No need for extra adornments. We’ll just slice them up and scatter them over a piece of rich, citrusy pound cake.
Restoration Farm stimulates all of the senses – not just sight, smell and touch and taste, but hearing as well. The cluck of a heritage hen, the grind of a tractor, and even the strum of a guitar or the twang of a fiddle invite us to reconnect with our soul and the world.
At the Tin House, the musical group “The Live Cultures” is performing a set of folk, blues and traditional Appalachian tunes.
The music is restorative and the band’s spirit and enthusiasm is infectious.
As they are all about “live cultures” the musicians even bring along some sourdough starter for sale, and tell a few ripe fermentation jokes - what did the bacteria say to the beer? It’s the yeast I could do!
Monday morning seems a million miles away.