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Quiet Autumn

A handful of warm days.  It is strange to walk out the door and feel hot.  The cluster flies have resurrected and swarm the sunny side of the house.  While we’ve also had more rain and the ground is inconsistent at best, the air is like tinder next to a sulpfherous match.    Even though the days are slowly becoming shorter, Time seems to be a bit longer.  There is still much to do, but there is not the same pressing need of things growing. The plants themselves are drowsy if not altogether sleeping now—yet there are still  a few tenacious leaves hanging on trees and those roses still bloom, though their colors are more tea-stained, browned at the edges.  Only in the green house do the small starts of lettuces and bitter greens , the carrots and herbs need to be anchored in their new beds with tilled up soil and black compost.  This will be the winter harvest for the restaurant.
It is quiet in the late afternoon sun slanting through bare maple, bare birch.  It is somehow relaxing to hear only the small finches talk, the rushing water in the brook, the sound of the hoe hitting the roots of the unwanted campion in the vineyard, the burble of voices on the radio in the green house reciting the day’s news full of sensational stories and tragedies which I am frankly glad that I unable to hear clearly.  Much better to get mud on the hands and knees , and think of the hopeful, hibernating plants and the slow inspiration of soil. Read the original post at fuoricitta (out of the city) Deirdre Heekin is the author of In Late Winter We Ate Pears and Libation, A Bitter Alchemy, both available now.


Syllabub.  The dictionary says, “See sillabub”.  A classic English dessert of a certain era that graces the country dance tables in the novels of Jane Austen. Earlier this summer, I re-read the last Jane Austen novel partially written by Ms. Austen and finished by a contemporary author.  Sanditon is a play on all the same […] Read More..

After The Party

We sit down at the table. There are six of us: our friends Mark and Gina who helped the evening stay glued together, Eliza who has been the intern at the restaurant and farm for the last nine months, and her mother Trish, up for a visit. The old-wood table that Caleb built a few […] Read More..


I’ve waited too long to write. My memory seems to be not quite as it used to be. In the glory days of youth, I could remember faces, place names, historical dates, addresses (but somehow, never phone numbers), what I ate, drank, when, where, and why. I’m trying to remember that sunny day last week. […] Read More..

Gorgeous Disgorgement

We have only a case of bottles left of our first cider from two seasons ago.  They have been patiently waiting, or rather they have been doing what they need to do, and I have been not-so-patiently waiting for the time when we can disgorge them.   The number of bottles has dwindled over the last […] Read More..

The End is the Beginning

It’s the end of our vacation.  Last day before the realities of running the restaurant during the holiday and winter season.  Tomorrow and the next several days will be full of reservations, returning phone calls, waxing the dining room floor, painting the bathroom, making a soup, preparing ravioli, stocking wine. But today is Sunday, my […] Read More..