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.
