After Christmas is over Heidi and I kind of fly below radar for a while trying to make time for a little R&R. On the 28th we set off for the beach and spent about a week watching Franky Avalon movies and walking the magnificent coast outside of Moeclips and snuggling our daughter. Not wanting the party to end we stopped at Hannah's (our friend and farm manager) on our way back to the house and spent another couple days with her family. She has a big family and a warm and welcoming home in a converted barn outside Pe Ell.
Then it was back to the house where we try to get two big jobs done before the 18
th of January every year; the seed order and the
WSDA Organic Certification Renewal. They are not glory jobs but the seed order and
the certification both offer a great
opportunity to look back over last year and plan for a new season. We also go over the customer survey responses from the
CSA and pour over Market and Commercial sales info to come up with a comprehensive plan for the coming season.
Then it is time for our annual pilgrimage to the homeland, Douglassville PA. I was born in Pottstown PA, about 10 miles from Douglassville, and lived there until I was seventeen and off to college. Located in Berks county PA, Douglassville is just a little berg that has become developed over the years and though it retains some of its original charm is largely unrecognizable from the memories of my childhood. My parents home is over two hundred years old and not at all out of the ordinary for the area. Field stone farm houses, barns and even long field stone fences are common. The nearby township of Oley is in its entirety a historic landmark, and it is quite easy to have a beer or sandwich in a pub that housed soldiers from the revolution. You cannot turn around without bumping into an historic marker.
One of the things I recognize when I am "back East" is this sense of history. It is tangible, literally. Like when you open a door and your hand rests on a hand made iron knob that has been turned every day for 200 years you can feel it. When the big oak door swings effortlessly on hand forged hinges, and closes with a sharp and perfect click, it says something. The banister in my parents house has been polished by the hands of people for two centuries, the old the young; sliding down from the second floor making the tight turn at the top and hoping not to get caught; "Michael David are you sliding down the banister!!!!"
When we visit nearby Philadelphia we walk the narrow brick streets with stone curbs which still have the rings set for tieing up your horses, and see rows of red brick homes with black doors. Here you can visit Bettsy Ross's house, see the liberty bell, and stand in the room where the declaration of Independence was drafted. There is art every where, I love the hidden bronze sculpture of Caulder's all over the city, and the Philadelphia art museum itself is an imposing part of the landscape.
The other thing I always enjoy is the food. OK, I'll level with you; it is difficult but not impossible to find fresh local organic produce in Philly, and to their credit it is getting easier all the time and many restaurants have begun featuring such culinary oddities. However it is easy to find your choice of prosciutto, yes choice. You can walk into any of a number of delis and get capocolla, and soppresatta, fresh mozzarella and asiago, roasted red peppers, stuffed olives, fresh bread from Philly or New York (flown in daily). Fugettaboutit. And my parents cooking.........Cappelletti; that's Italian for little hats, and here they are; hand made stuffed with pork sausage and floating in a bowl of chicken broth. And the cheese steaks with a bag of Utz potato chips, mmmmmm. OK enough.
Wait, one more thing. On day two of our visit I went into town to Vinccenzos and bought so much lunch meat and olives that the owner asked if I was hosting a party and threw in two loaves of bread. I smiled and said yes, thank you.
