Category Archives: The Garden

Three Reasons to Celebrate: Baby Goats, Sugar Snap Peas, & A Second Printing

I watched a goat give birth this morning. It was maybe the coolest thing I’ve ever seen.

I was going to blog about something else today. Actually yesterday. And then yesterday went by and now today has, too. That is how my life goes these days, here in my new world. When I get up, I think there is something so important to do that I must focus entirely on it—be productive, get it done, do my work.  But the universe always has other plans for me. And if I just remember to pay attention to that, I get to experience the most amazing things.

So while Roy and I went over to the farm especially early this morning—ostensibly to water and harvest and be out of there by 8—Basil and Snowflake, two pygmy goats, had other plans (the goat pen is right next to our vegetable garden). By the time we got there, Basil had given birth during the night to two healthy kids, both females (does). One was a little grey and white patchy thing, already cleaned up and awkwardly skipping and hopping around like a tipsy gypsy. She even managed to climb on mama’s back.  The other little girl was black with white ears, and she was much bigger (and less squirmy) than her sister.

Snowflake was in labor. Never having given birth myself, I wasn’t exactly sure by her bleating and writhing what the whole timing scenario was! Fortunately, Randy and Rebecca (the farm owners) soon arrived to check on Snowflake. Randy had been up during the night helping Basil along with the second kid, who needed a small tug to get out. Basil, though, as it turns out, is a veteran Mom. For Snowflake, this was the first time.

Randy talked soothingly to her, but let her push. Two little white hooves followed by two little black legs appeared. And then, as we all stood watching (Snowflake had positioned herself in the breezeway of the shed so we could all see), swoosh!—the kid spilled out in a tidy (wet) bundle. Not a few seconds later it lifted its head and squiggled in the hay. Bravo Snowflake!

The second kid apparently followed not long after. I missed that but came back with my camera a short while later in time to watch Snowflake lick them (a little black doe and a little black buck) clean.  Even though I had emptied the chip in my camera, I still ran out of space after a half-hour or so. I was mesmerized.

Frankly, I was just as excited about the goats (and the appearance of the first sugar snap peas in the garden) as the other news I was going to blog about—that the second printing of Fast, Fresh & Green arrived in warehouses yesterday.

I have to admit, I have very mixed feelings about bragging about my book. I wasn’t brought up to flaunt success, and yet I know two things: One, I didn’t do this book all by myself, and the folks who helped me deserve to share in the good news. I owe it to them (and these are not the people who are logging on to Facebook and Twitter on a regular basis, so they are not going to see the reviews) to keep them updated. Secondly, I know what it feels like to be grateful. In my post midlife-crisis world, not only do I get to be present for a lot of cool stuff, but I also get to know that terrific feeling of gratitude—of knowing you’re the recipient of good karma that you’re not necessarily wholly responsible for.

So to celebrate Fast, Fresh & Green (and those sugar snap peas I’m going to harvest for the farm stand tomorrow!), here’s a quick recipe, Sautéed Sugar Snaps with Salami Crisps. It’s one of my very favorites in the book for its inarguable simplicity.  And for anyone with lots of time on their hands (that’s you, Mom and Dad!!) who would like to see some of the recent coverage of FFG, there’s a list of links after the recipe. I’m particularly grateful to the articulate Tom Philpott of for acknowledging my primary goal—to encourage people to cook at home more.  To me, there’s no better way to practice being present—and grateful—than spending time cooking (and eating) at home every day with friends and family.

Sautéed Sugar Snaps with Salami Crisps


1 ounce very thinly sliced Genoa salami

1 teaspoon extra-virgin olive oil

½ pound sugar snap peas, tails removed

1/8 teaspoon kosher salt


Stack the salami slices and cut them across into ¼-inch wide strips. Pull the strips apart and spread them in one layer on the cutting board; they are much easier to add to the pan when they are not clumped together.

In a large (12-inch) nonstick skillet, heat the 1 teaspoon olive oil over medium heat. When the oil is hot (it will loosen up and spread out), add the sugar snap peas and season them with the 1/8 teaspoon salt. Toss well. Cook, stirring occasionally, until the peas turn bright green, blister, and begin to turn a very light golden brown in spots, about 3 minutes. Add the salami strips and toss well.

Continue to cook, stirring occasionally, until the peas are browned in spots on both sides and the salami strips have shrunken, turned a darker brown color, and feel crisp, 3 to 4 minutes. (The salami will probably be crisp on the edges but still somewhat pliable after 3 minutes. You can stop at that point if you do not want to cook the peas further, but I like the texture of the fully crisp salami, and the peas stay crisp even when cooked more.) Transfer to a serving platter or dinner plates.

Serves 3


Here are links to some recent reviews of Fast, Fresh & Green.This is only a partial list and my thanks go to the many bloggers who have taken FFG for a test spin and enjoyed the ride!

How to Be Fast, Fresh & Green in the Kitchen (Grist)

To Market, To Market: 10 Top Summer Cookbooks (NPR)

Book Report: We Pick 11 New Cookbooks (Washington Post)

Ideas For What to Do With Summer’s Bounty (Associated Press)

Favorite Cookbooks: Fast, Fresh & Green (Eat Well, Eat Cheap blog)

Oh What A Week–In the Garden, and the Kitchen, Too

Maybe it’s a cheap shot to blame it on the stars, but when I heard there was a rare planetary alignment going on this week, I felt relieved. Apparently this is the kind of event that makes everyone feel a little crazy, a tad more pressed and stressed. Now we had our excuse for running around like chickens with our heads cut off all week.

We were dog sitting and house sitting. Still working madly on building structures in the garden, still harvesting greens and herbs for the farm stand every morning (photos above), still watering, weeding, and bug-picking. Amen. Roy was working on three different jobs, and I was developing recipes and taking pictures for a new book proposal.

Yesterday I spent a couple hours on my belly crawling around a hoop house clearing out nasty weeds. (This was pretty fun, actually. At least hot air rises, so it was cooler on the floor.) This morning we got up early to go rake up some hay from a friend’s field, still needing more for our garden pathways and for mulch.  (And this, I have to tell you, wasn’t just fun but incredibly calming. When the planets are conspiring to drive you crazy, grab a pitchfork and head for a golden rolling field dotted with apple trees and pines, cows grazing in the distance. All will be right with the world.)

So no complaining. Absolutely not. It’s all good stuff, and productive, too. Here’s a look at what emerged from our crazy week. And for this we thank our lucky stars.

Over in the kitchen of the lovely house we were camping out in, I spent some time salvaging tiny bok choy and kale leaves from thinnings I’d plucked in the garden (above left). Once I got the roots off  and washed them well, I had just enough leaves for a side dish— the fastest and simplest of sautés with slivered garlic. One morning I roasted and sauteéd a bunch of summer vegetables (yeah, a little ahead of the season) for a main-dish salad I’m developing. My doggy friend Wally (right) got pretty interested when I put the dish on the floor to photograph.

Back in the garden, Roy built a trellis for our pole beans (left) and a cool support structure for our tomatoes (center), both from bamboo that we had also gone on safari to retrieve. (Well, not really, but it felt like that. If you’ve ever been in a forest of bamboo–and tried to cut some down without a power tool, you’ll know what I mean. We got out the power tool.)  We also prepared the squash and eggplant beds and planted both. We  weeded the new lettuce bed and laid down a thicker layer of hay than we’d originally thought was necessary. Darn weeds.

Meanwhile, I lopped off several heads of Tat soi (left) and dinner-plate sized lettuces (right) every day for the farm stand. The next crop of baby lettuces and more arugula are not far behind, planted a few weeks ago. (It may be getting too hot for arugula now, though. It’s pretty spicy.)

Lots of other veggies are making progress, and I’m most excited about the peas which have started to emerge from a flourish of little white flowers. It’s hard for me not to eat the shoots and flowers right now, but I know I need to leave them alone to produce more actual peas.

I’m also ridiculously excited about the carrot bed, which I have been weeding and thinning meticulously. (And photographing–those boots of mine wind up in more garden shots than I can count!). We’re growing three kinds of carrots including Little Finger and Scarlet Nantes. We planted Sunburst Hybrid summer squash (the little Patty Pan shape) and Wee-B-Little pumpkins, among other squashes (middle). And under the row cover, more chard and bok choy are on the way.

Tonight we’re going to transplant the Brussels sprouts. Did I mention I love vegetables?

Lettuce for Sale! Get your Greens! We’re in business!

There is so much happening over at the vegetable garden that I haven’t even had time to write about it. After two years of trotting around this Island from farm to farm, getting to know farmers and watching how hard they work, you’d a thought I would have anticipated this. But no, I thought doing a “part time” production garden would tuck right into my schedule. A little cooking, a little writing, a little gardening. Ha! (Many “Ha!s,” in fact.)

The really tricky part is finding time to market your product when transplanting, weeding, and watering are calling. All of a sudden I have lovely lettuce on my hands—Royal Oakleaf, Lollo di Vino, Red Sails, Tom Thumb Bibb, Salad Bowl, Butterblush Cos—that needs to be harvested, and now! With this unusually hot weather we’ve been having, it is getting almost too hot for the poor things. All the hearty greens (Red Russian kale, Cavalo Nero, Mustard, Tat Soi) we transplanted several weeks ago are also ready to be harvested. The young leaves are just the right size for stir-fries and sautés, but the two of us can only eat so much of this stuff. And the gorgeous purple pak choi we grew is looking just perfect right now (except for a few little holes from the flea beetles).

Since it’s early in the season here on Martha’s Vineyard, we don’t really have the traffic up at the Native Earth farm stand on North Road to sell much volume, but I’ve decided to keep a cooler of greens and lettuce out there every day nonetheless, just in case folks stopping in to get some of Rebecca Gilbert’s tomato plants might be tempted by a bargain. Also, I convinced our kind land lady, Rhonda, (who also manages Alley’s General Store) to take a basket of baby lettuces today for the Alley’s farm stand. So we are officially in business. Now I’m off to buy more soaker hoses. I said we were in business, not in profit-mode!

P.S. The pygmy goats at Native Earth are due to give birth any day now! Can’t wait to see those little kids.

Seaweed & The Scarecrow: Lessons from the Garden So Far

It’s only mid-May, and already the vegetable garden is leading me by the hand, showing me things about myself and my world that I sometimes ignore, don’t appreciate enough—or might not choose to think about all the time. Like the fact that I have pale skin (#30 sun block, my new best friend), am not in great shape (achy back and knees), and HELLO, I can’t do everything myself. Lately, I’ve been feeling really, really grateful for my partner Roy, who, when I suggested the crazy “production” garden idea last fall, embraced the idea enthusiastically. I’m quite sure I’d be a complete nervous wreck by now if he weren’t on the case, what with my book just coming out, deadlines swirling, etc., etc.

I bring this up only because I thought if anyone else is contemplating a big garden project like this, you might appreciate the suggestion to do it with a partner. The funny thing is, it’s not so much the (physical) load-sharing I appreciate. (Though there’s plenty of that, like the hour Roy spent fertilizing seedlings last night while I did some writing). It’s the cerebral stuff—the great ideas and the practical solutions that Roy brings to the garden because he thinks differently than I do (and often acts more quickly, too). Watching Roy work out the solution to some garden problem we’re having often turns into an “a ha!” moment for me, stimulating some long-sleepy area of my brain. Better still, the solutions in action are almost always some of the most fun garden moments we have.

Last week we needed to take the row cover fabric off of our baby pea plants and little bok choys, but we were still concerned the crows might get to them. “We need a scarecrow!” Roy kept saying. Sure, that sounded like a good idea to me, but I know if it had been up to me, we’d still not have a scarecrow. It was Roy who rustled through his old clothes to find a pair of jeans, a sweatshirt, a tee-shirt for the face, and a hat, and then stuffed them full of hay. He tied Mr. Scarecrow up with twine, took him to the garden and tied him to the deer fence, and all Libby (his daughter) and I had to do was come in at the last minute to draw a face on Mr. Scarecrow and take his (and Roy’s) picture! So far Mr. Scarecrow is doing a great job, even fooling several human passers-by.

This weekend it became clear that our newly planted beds of lettuce, chard, arugula, and spinach were in bad need of mulching. We’ve had very little rain this spring, we don’t yet have drip hoses in place, and the soil is so dry that it isn’t holding the water from our morning douses very well. We’re also trying to keep our expenses down, so buying mulch for all these beds isn’t a great option. “We need seaweed,” Roy said. At first, I couldn’t quite wrap my head around this. I’ve heard seaweed makes a great addition to compost, and I thought it was something you laid out (in its wet form) on your garden beds over the winter. It hadn’t occurred to me what a great mulch dried seaweed makes.

“Get in the car,” Roy said Saturday morning, dragging me away from the computer. “We’re going to the beach.” He had stuffed a couple of tarps into the back of the car, and off we went. It was one of those big blue-sky days, warm and sunny, breeze gently blowing. We wore shorts and tee-shirts, dug our toes into the sand, and scooped up two tarp-loads of dried seaweed. I looked around at one of the most breathtaking vistas on Martha’s Vineyard – Rugosa roses and beach plums already blooming along the sand dunes that spilled out across the shore—and thought, what in the world could possibly be a more enchanting activity? Back at the garden, it felt so satisfying to spread the seaweed around the seedlings (like this arugula, right), knowing the soil would now stay moister (and a little less weedy).

There are lots more ways that Roy has made the practical solutions fun for us—like the cold frame he made out of an old sliding door. At first we had it positioned outside the deer fence, but found that awkward. “Let’s move this inside,” Roy said. Now it sits centered along one edge of the garden, surrounded by pansies that Libby and I planted. It doubles as a perch; at the end of a working day, we close it, sit on top it, and look out to admire our beds.  And then there’s the bamboo pea trellis (another adventure to collect the bamboo) and the refurbished wooden wagon (from a church).  But again, it’s not the trellis or the wagon—the material things—that matter so much. It’s what the garden offers as a true microcosm for everything in life: Without our friends, without help, without fresh ideas, we—and the garden—can’t thrive. I know the garden has more lessons in store for me this summer, but I’m glad I learned this one early on.

A Hen Party Around the Water Cooler

I have water on the brain. Not literally, I hope. It’s just that the subject of clean water is all around me, all around us. In fact, I found it kind of eerie that it was coming at me from so many different directions last week, almost as if the water gods were trying to get my attention. On the national news, it was the horrendous oil spill polluting the Gulf; in Massachusetts, a giant water pipe burst, leaving thousands of folks in the Boston area to boil water all weekend.

Here on the Vineyard, ironically, this was the weekend a whole series of special events—the “Water is Life” celebration—was scheduled, revolving around the launch of National Geographic’s new book, Written in Water: Messages of Hope for Earth’s Most Precious Resources.  Water is a big deal on an island, of course, not just because of the miles of beaches and acres of coastal ponds, but because we sit on top of our own aquifer. We’re one big watershed. That’s good news when things happen on the mainland like the water-main break; we escape being affected. But on the flip side, everything we put on our lawns, in our plumbing, and over our fields eventually filters into our water.

But the water issue I was pondering most this week wasn’t a national or even a local one. No, in my little myopic world, what I was thinking about most was watering my vegetable garden. With the potatoes planted, the peas (and weeds!) sprouting, and some of the greens transplanted, this was the first week the garden demanded a daily watering. Other than the somewhat heated household “discussion” about who was going to get up (very) early every morning and go over to the farm to do this, most of the thinking centered around sorting through a complex system of hoses, splitters, valves, and connections that lead to a hydrant (sort of an old-fashioned looking pump with a red handle) at the center of the farm where our water supply originates.

By the third morning, we’d figured out the routine—a routine we’ll probably follow every morning for the next several months. After watering (and I am already amazed at how much water we’ll need to dispense for an area like ours), I retraced my steps to the hydrant to close down the pump. As I walked, I found myself thinking about how lucky we are to have a vegetable plot on a farm. Not only do we have amazing soil, but there’s an established system of water distribution in place. And as I turned the corner past the sheep pasture and the goat pen, I also began to think about how important water is to a farm—not just for raising crops, but for feeding the animals. Just one goat or sheep can drink a gallon of water a day. That’s why everywhere you go on a small farm, you see the ubiquitous black rubber water tubs (like the one in this photo) that constantly need topping up. As many of those tubs as I’ve spied since moving to the Vineyard, I don’t think I’ve ever really thought about what it takes to fill them.

When I got to the hydrant, though, I had to laugh. The ducks and hens (and guinea fowl) have it all figured out, I thought. They never miss the opportunity to stop and take a drink or a bath (or both—they’re not picky).  In this case, they’ve claimed the drip-catching tub under the hydrant as their own. The spot definitely reminded me of the water cooler in an office—everyone gathers there for a cackle and a drink.  Watching them also suddenly made me think about the poor birds on the Gulf Coast who won’t be as lucky as these ones in the coming months.

I must admit, I don’t think I’ve ever given water as much thought as I did this week. And when we start harvesting those glorious peas (and everything else) later this suumer, I’ll now be thinking about all the things that make them possible—not just the soil, the sun, and the hard work, but the water, too.

P.S. And speaking of peas, I hope some of you live in an area of the country (or world) where peas really are a spring vegetable. On the Island we don’t harvest them until July, so I have a while to wait.  (In the mean time, I don’t mind cooking with frozen peas, believe it or not.) Either way, if you want to enjoy them simply and deliciously, check out this recipe for Peas with Lemon, Mint & Scallions from my book, Fast, Fresh & Green. It’s just been posted as part of a book excerpt on, the website of Fine Cooking magazine, which I write for regularly.

And if you live on the Vineyard, don’t forget you are invited to Bunch of Grapes bookstore on this Friday, May 7, at 7:30 for a book signing and demo by yours truly.

A Kale Grows in the Kitchen: A Tale of Seedling Mania

There is that giddy-scary scene in Fantasia when the broomsticks multiply and start filling the room with too much water. That’s kind of the way we feel here in our tiny apartment, which is home to two adults, one lovebird, an occasional 7-year old, and 465 seedlings. Yes, I said 465. Our kitchen looks like one of those bad fern bars from the 70’s.  I am worried that one day we are going to wake up smothered in seedlings, like those famous brothers, the Collyers, who were buried alive by stacks of The New York Times they hoarded in their Harlem apartment years ago.

It didn’t start out this way. We built shelves, set up growing lights, and planted just enough trays of plugs and six-packs to go under the lights. But we turned out to be thinning-averse. In other words, we planted too many seeds in each cell, and when they all germinated, didn’t get down to the business of getting rid of the extra seedlings right away.

When we did, we couldn’t bear to throw the thinnings away. Oh, sure, we tossed some lettuce and greens shoots into our salads, but those tomato (like the Black Cherry, above), pepper, and eggplant seedlings seemed like gold to us. So before they got too crowded, we started unpacking every six-pack and moving each seedling into its own 3- or 4-inch pot. And yeah, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that 18 to 20 seedlings that have been crammed into a tiny six-pack will now take up substantially more room when each is luxuriating in a small pot of its own. Where to put them (and all their friends)? Not only would they need linear space, but light, too.

Fortunately, we had built extra shelving—and we have six sunny windows in our South-facing apartment. Because clearly not everyone was going to get to hang out under a growing light (we only have four). After several hours of rearranging the furniture in our living room and kitchen the other day, we found a spot for everyone. But it’s still a bit like managing a 3-ring circus, as we continue to transplant and to shift trays around from under the artificial lights over to the sunny window spots and occasionally to the less-sunny-floor-space-spots so that everyone gets his or her turn in the best light. The apartment’s got micro-climates, too—the floor is much cooler, and the greens (like the Rainbow Lacinato kale, right) like being there.

The really good news is that we actually turned earth over in the garden yesterday. In fact, we carved out three of our 75-square-foot beds Thursday night and will work on the other 14 this weekend. The cold frame is set up, and soon the flats of greens and lettuces will go in them to harden off. That’s good, because we need the space in the kitchen to start some more Sweet Genovese, Thai, and Lime Basil.

Hold the Green Beans, Olive the Berkshire Pig Loves Pizza

One of the very coolest things about the vegetable garden we will tend this summer is that it lies squarely between a hog pen and a goat yard. All summer long we’ll be in the good company of Olive the Berkshire pig, who is (cross your fingers), hopefully pregnant, so we’ll be joined by some little black piglets, too. Soon, Thunder the boar will also be back at Native Earth. He’s been on loan to another local farm for the last three months.

The goats, who are the very cute mini-goats known as pygmies, will probably move around a bit, as they have a job to do—clearing brush. But they’ll be close enough for us to say hi to every day. And these gals are expecting, too, thanks to a new billy goat who’s joined them.

Besides the goats and pigs, there are sheep and hens and guinea fowl and ducks and geese and I- don’t- know-what-else at the farm. I am beside myself with excitement. Anyone who knows me well will tell you that I get kind of goofy about pigs and goats, and pretty much every other kind of farm animal. I’m just crazy about them. Fortunately, Roy and his daughter Libby (with Olive, above) share this passion of mine. We dropped by the farm today, ostensibly to add some kitchen scraps to the compost pile. But secretly we’d brought along a few slices of last night’s pizza (plain cheese) to offer to Olive, even though we understand she’s getting plenty to eat right now. Hopefully we won’t get in trouble. We just thought it’d be nice to make friends early on. It seemed to work. Olive smiled. So did Libby.

On our way home from Native Earth, we stopped in at Whiting Farm to see the newborn lambs. The Whitings’ sheep are a handsome breed known as Cheviots, and even the babies have distinctively upright ears. Allen Whiting let Libby help him bottle-feed a lamb who’s not getting quite enough milk from Mom. Libby asked if he had named the lambs, and he explained that he usually doesn’t, as most of these lambs will become meat. Libby understood that, just as she did when we mentioned the piglets would be raised for meat. “Bacon?” she asked. Yes, really, really good bacon.

Between our vegetable garden and being around the farm, Libby’s going to learn a lot about where her food comes from this summer. (Jamie Oliver would be proud!) We’ve picked out some vegetables—like baby carrots and mini-pumpkins—just for her, and she’s hoping we’ll get a hen or two for her to help take care of. (She loves fresh eggs, too.) I can’t help but feel grateful for this: The chance for her to learn and be challenged—while we all spend time together outdoors—is just one more bonus to our vegetable garden project.

My Secret Urge to Be a Farmer: The Great Vegetable Growing Experiment Begins

I am pretty sure I didn’t turn out the way my parents had planned. They sent me to good schools and had high hopes for my future. When I was in college, my father announced that he had found the perfect graduate program for me. It was a combo law-school-and-business-school all rolled into one. Was he kidding? Sounded like pure hell to me. “Sorry, Dad,” I said, “I am going to New York to be a writer.” Yikes, could there be any words a father would rather not hear?

I give him a lot of credit for being a good sport then—and for standing by for the next 25 years as I pursued not one, but possibly two of the worst paying career choices a girl could make—publishing and cooking. I shifted back and forth from one to the other, finally managing to splice the two together to earn a halfway decent salary as the editor of a cooking magazine. But then I longed to be poor again and quit that job a couple years ago.

Now, unbelievably, I have found a third passion to pursue that very definitely has the potential to earn me even less money than the first two careers—growing vegetables. It could, however, be the most satisfying pursuit of all. Who wouldn’t want to play around in the dirt all day, sun screaming down from a perfect blue sky, little green edible jewels poking up all around you like candy spilled out from a piñata?

Okay, I know it’s not all like that. Not hardly. I went to work on a friend’s farm in upstate New York last summer to try and see if I had what it takes. I spent one entire week on my hands and knees weeding carrot seedlings. My friends were really polite and claimed that I “saved” the carrot crop, but all I could think about was how slow and out of shape I was, and how hard (REALLY hard) they worked.

Still, I can’t get this growing urge to go away. I’ve had little vegetable gardens over the years, but this year I’ve really gone and done it. Along with my partner Roy Riley, I’ve rented a big plot from my friend Rebecca Gilbert over at Native Earth Teaching Farm here on Martha’s Vineyard.  By big, I don’t mean huge, as in acres; I mean big by backyard vegetable garden standards, about 2800 square feet. Much of that will be paths, of course; what Roy and I have drawn on paper is actually 16 beds, each 24 x 3 feet, plus two longish borders with perennial herbs. (So it’s really more like 1400 square feet.) Roy, thankfully, is a builder, so he has already started crafting useful garden stuff for us, like cold frames to harden off the seedlings (and the seed-starting shelves in the photo at right).

We’ll be growing peas, sugar snap peas, snow peas, pole beans, bush wax beans, tomatoes, eggplant, cucumbers, carrots, beets, onions, potatoes, winter and summer squash, lots of different kinds of cooking greens and salad greens, fresh herbs, and flowers. All winter long we’ve been hoarding vegetable gardening books from the West Tisbury library, ordering seeds and equipment, and figuring out a budget for this project. We’ve already started a few hundred seedlings inside, and we hover over them like ridiculously nervous parents.

Our plan is to help Rebecca get the farm stand (on North Road in Chilmark) to be a more robust destination for veggie-, herb-, and flower-hungry Up-Islanders. So Roy and I will be selling our harvest there, and possibly at a few other places. My goal is to see if there’s any way that this growing thing could become a permanent part (albeit a really tiny part) of my future livelihood. So while it’s not exactly farming, I’d be proud to call myself a grower if I can learn the secrets to this art. I’m optimistic and excited, because I know how much I’ll enjoy the process even if our yields are less than stellar the first year.

By the way, I realize this website (and blog) is supposed to be dedicated to cooking vegetables, so I’ll try not to get too sidetracked with talk about growing them. I will, however, give you an occasional update on the garden as the season gets going. Because, after all, what better excuse to develop more new vegetable recipes!