HOMEGROWN FOOD.
"You from around here?" she asked, as I put my laundry into the dryer (a popular question for us really, as the answer is so obviously no). I proceeded to tell the older woman on the bench we lived in Bugtussle, that we'd just recently bought some land, and we were working on starting a farm. She told me she had grown up on a farm herself, right here in Monroe County, and I all but begged her to tell me more.Something Hannah and I rarely pass up is the opportunity to connect with old-timers like my friend on the bench––people who grew up raising their own gardens, milking their own cows, making butter, tending chickens and hauling water; people who grew up living the way we hope our future children will grow up living. And we find it important to chat with them whenever we can, as they're ripe with perspective and love to talk. This woman was in her seventies. She told me her father was a farmer and raised cash crops like corn or tobacco. Her mother raised the children and the garden. As we spoke, I noticed how fondly she looked back on what must have been hard times––the food especially.She told me she could rarely find food like she grew up on, "The milk you get at the market just ain't the same. Homegrown food," she went on to say, "can't nothing compare." Since I first started farming, I've learned to admire and appreciate this word, "homegrown." People don't use it lightly around here. It's as precious as "organic," but regulated by a certain kind of sincerity, nostalgia and trust. Anytime an old-timer happens by the farmer's market in Nashville, that's the what they want to know, "are these carrots homegrown?" The word "natural" turns them off. "Organic" sounds highfalutin. "Homegrown" is their staple of quality. I tell them we don't spray, we're local, and we planted and picked the produce ourselves. So essentially, yes. Many then tell me our produce looks and tastes like what they remember. That's what they're looking for, tomatoes like momma's tomatoes, and we're honored when that's how they describe ours.I enjoyed my conversation with the lady, and was sad when it had to end. I've definitely learned that few people know good food quite like people who were raised on nothing but. They know what it takes to grow it, and what a good tomato should taste like. They want it to taste fresh. They want it to taste like what they can't find in super markets. They don't necessarily care if it comes from your home, however, as the name suggests. They just want it to come from your garden. Fresh, local food––like all their food used to be––that's what they want: food like we strive to grow, and food like they grew up on. If we can grow vegetables the locals would call "homegrown," then I'll consider our operation a success."I'll be on the lookout for your produce," she said sweetly as she left, "We need more good, homegrown food around here."- Jesse.
THE CREEK.
One of the very first things I did on my first visit to Bugtussle Farm was to take a walk with the family to the creek. I was surprised when we reached our destination - what looked to me more like a lake or a river. But it was a creek. The Creek, as it is known to me now.The Creek has become a salvation to me. It is our swimming hole, our bathtub, a place where we come to be, as Eric calls it, "born again." There is truly nothing better after a long day of working in the sun, 95 degrees and sweating and dirty and itchy, than plunging into The Creek. You truly feel reborn, renewed. It is sometimes the only thing that can motivate me to finish a very difficult summer project - the hope of The Creek. The symbolism of a baptism makes a new kind of sense to me now.We never take it for granted - the Smith family is down at the water at least once a day, swimming or bathing or cooking over a campfire or fishing. It is one of the best parts of summer around here - right up there with tomatoes and eggplant and melons.- Hannah.
THIS & THAT.
Some random photos from the past week.
Snakeskin found in the orchard garden.
Staking and caging hundreds of tomatoes on a hot day....not exactly a fun project.
Happy little lamb.
Grilling soda cheese quesadillas and elephant garlic scapes.
The farm smells overwhelmingly of honeysuckle these days.