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Sacred Kolors: The Rise of Natural Indigo in West Baltimore

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Bryan Wright, Diretor of Operations, on the site of the farm in Upton neighborhood. Seventy fruit trees were planted this spring to provide shade for the indigo through the assistance of the Baltimore Orchard Project

Today on a bright autumn day, in the heart of West Baltimore, Bryan Ibrafall Wright gives me a tour down rows of indigo plants, on a spongy path of wood chips. The plants are little shrubs, all green leaves about the size of a finger. Soon, they’ll be harvesting the branches and processing powder to produce indigo dye, the deep blue magical color that has captivated artisans for centuries. Jars of the precious powder are now available online at Sacred Kolors.

Read more at https://sacredkolors.com/

 “We’ve been working to get this place cleaned up for a year,” notes Bryan, the operating director of the Sacred Kolors project. Once a vacant lot of destroyed buildings that harbored drug deals, the one-acre farm now is a triumph of sweat, weeding, and a mix of funding, which has come from many community resources, including Baltimore Orchard Project, the Maryland Department of Housing and Development and a $300,00 grant from Truist bank. In June 2022, the Maryland Institute of College for the Arts hosted the ground-breaking, a collaboration of the art school, the Natural Dye Initiative and the Upton Planning Commission.

Upton in revival

Upton, once home to Thurgood Marshall and singer Billie Holiday, has had more than its share of crime and boarded up houses. Indigo, which can make blue jeans blue, could be the community’s bread and butter. 

Synthetic indigo used to color jeans is toxic

Indigo carmine, a petroleum-based synthetic used to color blue jeans as well as the many denim products in American wardrobes, has been revealed to be toxic, according to numerous reports from the NIH. Researchers report exposure to synthetic indigo can cause hypertension, skin irritation and gastrointestinal disease.

Natural indigo is primed to take over from the toxic version. Levis are growing natural indigo at Stony Creek Colors in Tennessee for a new brand of plant-based jeans. Other clothing makers from Tommy Hilfiger and Patagonia are looking for potential sources of the sacred blue.

Abandoned school to become reprocessing center

Pieces are falling into place in Upton which is marketing its product online under Sacred Kolors. The Harriet Beecher Stowe Elementary School which will be renovated into a processing plant, is located right across the street from the garden at 1223 Argyle Avenue. Truist Market President Jay 3 cited the project’s potential for job training employment for the community when he gave the $300,000 donation.

The former Harriet Beecher Stowe school will be renovated to become an indigo processing plant

Sacred Kolors has already farmed out indigo seeds to five farms to add to production.

Before it all takes off in a commercial operation, Bryan wants to make sure the quality is the highest  Next year they will fill this acre with indigo, and expand the vegetable garden to an adjoining lot.

There is the joy of watching plants grow and flower and eating fresh from the garden. But Bryan, who has been a leader in urban agriculture, stressed that they are working hard on setting up the indigo plants for business, aiming to provide income and jobs for the community

The farm is an oasis

Besides providing fresh vegetables and a center for the fledgling indigo business, the farm is an oasis of calm for the community. Curly kale flourishes in one row, followed by butterfly peas climbing up strings on stakes in the next. Bryan points out the flowers of the butterfly peas are a brighter blue than indigo. The lush beautiful colored peas will be sold to teamakers who seek it for its unique quality of coloring tea blue.

“All the elders reroute their walks through here now,” says Bryan.  “Police officers come up here during lunch.. . . This is a green space, a place for calm” in the neighborhood.

While he can’t now claim the organic label, the farm is using regenerative methods for the past two years. A proponent of no-till, they use regenerative methods to add nutrition to the soil. They plant cover crops and lay down layers of mulch that are enriching the soil.

No til, regenerative

For Bryan, growing up in Milan (pronounced with the accent on Mi) Tennessee, this is nothing new.  Milan was the international capital of no-til, if only because the small farmers did not have the money or the land to invest in the big machinery of industrial agriculture.

“We had a no-till festival in the 1980’s,” Bryan says.  “No till was recognized then “to feed the soil, stop the weeds” in the fields of soy, corn and cotton.

With that background, Bryan has made his way to west Baltimore, to take on this burgeoning business, that requires as much gardening skills as knowledge of entrepreneurship and sociology.

In his office, a white mobile unit at the end of the garden, Bryan reaches in a cardboard box to display a jar of the indigo powder that will be offered for sale.  It awaits labels bearing the name Sacred Kolors, before going out in the online market via Amazon and Etsy.  An 8 ounce jar of dried crush leaf indigo goes for $20.  Now it’s in demand by artisans who value it for the rich color it brings to hand-made fabric such as silk and wool. Tattoo artists and hair salons also seek the rich blue color.

“We are trying to position ourselves in the market.  Right now we have massive interest,” Bryan says.

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To the Tower

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I didn’t want any grass to grow under my feet, so as soon as I got settled at the hotel, I prepared for the walk to the Broadway Tower, a curious landmark and the second highest point in the Cotswolds.







Photo by Newton 2, cropped by Yummifruit











I quickly settled in at Lygon Arms which feels welcoming like a sweet, aristocratic ancestor. After all, there has been some kind of hostelry here for 1,000 years. In contrast to many open air, high ceilinged American hotels , the Lygon Arms has cozy, dark nooks and crannies, its floors with dips and stone floors smoothed by centuries of feet. I counted four wood fireplaces set in each sitting area, furnished with comfortable leather chairs,  in conversational groups.





It also features wonderful green squares,  like little parks which are just blooming with delicate blue and yellow flowers.


























My room is situated as an attached cottage on the green, decked out with all the necessary modern conveniences, including–most important to me– a teapot, tea, shortbread cookies and plush robes. It has a sporty, masculine style, with brown tweed and plaid accents, two dog portraits and heavy furniture that looks like it might have belonged to King Charles I. 





I grabbed a cookie and donned my water repellent jacket and pants, just in case.





Before I could take 20 steps outside, I noticed a woman washing off big boots in a boot-washing stand, with sprays and brushes to remove dirt and mud, caked on the soles like thick chocolate icing piled on a cake. She’d just come from a walk to the tower. “Very muddy out there,” she said. “You can get some boots from the hotel reception area.” This was the best advice of the day. I would have slipped into a puddle without those boots.










I’m never afraid to ask my fellow travellers, who offer better on-the-spot tips than any guidebook.





Walking in the mud is fun in Wellies












A receptionist at the reservation desk found boots my size from a collection offered to guests. Pulling on the wellies,as they are called, I felt ready to tackle mountains of mud and prospective rain that is always a factor in England. These solid rubber boots give you the childhood thrill of splashing directly in mud puddles. The receptionist gave me a map and pointed me in the right direction, down High Street, turn left. Off I trudged, window shopping at the art galleries and glitzy country shops (selling Wellington boots as well as walking gear) as I go. Soon there was an opening on the right, lined in 5-foot high hedges. I asked a sweet older woman with a Labrador in the path which way to the Tower.





Oh yes, straight that way, through the kissing gate, go diagonal that way and follow where the grass is tromped down, she said. (I need affirmation; she was friendly and encouraging though I had no idea what a kissing gate was. I have since gone through a few; they provide a way to go through the gate without letting the animals out.)












In minutes, I found myself in the middle of the prettiest landscape, like a John Constable painting. Greens and wheat colors flowed down and up, lined by hedges and stone fences.







These poles mark the Cotswold Way














Sheep–the main source of wealth and wool for the area in the past









Tromping through the mud







View from the top. On clear days you can see all the way to Wales.














I walked a long time, with the hills growing steeper and the sky growing darker. I didn’t see the tower anywhere, no signs either, and no fellow travelers. I breathed deep and kept admiring the pristine landscape. For a tourist spot so prominent, it was totally unspoiled-without a gum wrapper or any trash, allowing unadulterated enjoyment of the land. I could see the village below, so small I could hold it in my hand.





Another walker came by to reassure me. “Yes, it’s up there just about 15 more minutes. It’s situated sort of in a hollow.”





I couldn’t give up! Finally, there were steps that led up to the tower, just as a light rain began to fall. I made it! The tower was all I had wanted to see. Tall, impressive, fun. And I had to turn around quickly as it was getting dark and rainy.












A couple with a husky appeared from the other direction. I asked them to take my picture. I reciprocated. They had been walking four hours from Chipping Camden and wondered where Broadway was. I was able to point them in the right direction and pretty soon we bonded as the rain drizzled. Their names were Suzanne and Eric.











Fellow travellers joined me at the Tower






The couple were the idyllic image; they had just moved to a little cottage in a little village where they worked remotely in wood crafts. Aurora, the husky, was lunging after the sheep, which she wanted to eat. There must have been 20 little lambs cavorting across one field, as the mother sheep baaed in panic.










Rain! I was grateful to come back to the hotel. I told the couple I am so thankful to meet such good, solid company. Suzanne hugged me. They departed for 2 miles further to their village and I went in to the hotel for a shower, dinner and a good sleep.





The walk was really a special accomplishment. Later I found out that the tower is accessible through car, or at least within a few yards on the other side. It has a cafe that sells afternoon tea and Prosecco. For me, having struggled up the hills to the Tower, the commercialization slightly spoiled the lonely image of this limestone oddity in the rain, the design of James Wyatt who built it in 1784 for Lady Coventry. The lady wanted to light the three story tower up for all the people of the Cotswolds to see. And there it still stands for travellers to admire the sheer beauty and folly of it.

	

	


			
				
				


		

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On my way to the Cotswolds
						

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At Paddington Station in London, feeling lost like Paddington Bear.






After a break for the winter doldrums, I’m relaunching Farm-finds with a trip to the Cotswolds, the heart of the beautiful English countryside. I came to London for a family wedding and figured I would take off a few days to walk a part of the Cotswold Way, a 102-mile walking trail, the main route between Bath and Chipping Camden for the last 500 years. Thousands of hikers tackle the whole trail, which has become one of the most popular in England.





I am just doing segments. My base will be Broadway which couldn’t be further from the NY Broadway. A honey-colored village without neon lights or billboards. I rode the Western Rail line from Paddington station to Moreton-in-Marsh (pronounced Morton and Marsh) for an hour and a half. The names of the villages –Bird Lip, Dursley, Chipping Camden–ring like places plucked from Harry Potter. Getting deeper into the country, I had to catch the bus from Moreton-in-Marsh to Broadway with just two minutes time. We hurtled down the road through tiny villages on roads about as wide as one mini-van.





Connections by public transportation are spotty. The bus driver couldn’t even tell me his schedule for my return trip. Cars rule here, unfortunately, but I was scared to drive on the “wrong side of the road” by myself.





The bus driver was skilled in driving down two-way roads to my destination Broadway, which fits the definition of charming and quaint. Its “fancy” shops feature Wellies and cheerful teacups.  The town museum has a painting exhibit on dogs.





Broadway Tower, a “folly,” is my first destination, a 5-mile walk up and down hills. One of England’s great landscape designers, “Capability Brown,” built it in the middle of his 200 acre-estate in the 1800s.






Broadway Tower sits atop the Cotswold escarpment, looking like it was just dropped in the field from the sky.






Then I’m planning to go by bus to Chipping Camden, another charming town with history and an art galley. I’ll walk 1.5 miles to Hidcote, an arts and crafts-style garden from there.





Finally, I’ll visit the incredibly successful and commercial organic farm, Daylesford, owned by Lady Bamford and her billionaire husband. Lady Bam is very savvy and trendy, the Martha Stewart of the upscale farm scene. On the farm in Daylesford, they grow wonderful organic produce with which they create amazing dishes to sell at their chic cafes in London, at their home base in Daylesford, and at a three-star restaurant in another Cotswold village. They’ve got lots of high-quality, high-priced products, from cutting shears to country inns. Organic, making a profit. How do they do it? I want to find out.





Travelling solo. I couldn’t convince my daughter, son or friends to come along due to conflicting schedules. I travelled all around Europe as a student, but I must admit as a single, older woman, it is a little intimidating. I’m calling on my old adventurous self. I like the idea of going my own way, walking at my own speed, dipping into shops and pubs on a whim. And perhaps as a nod to luxury, I’m staying at a nice hotel, the Lygon Arms, which claims Oliver Cromwell slept here– as well as the Duke of Windsor,  Richard Burton and Liz Taylor and Prince Phillip. Its origins go back to the 1300s when the inn on this spot was known as the White Hart.












But, maybe for me, the extra benefit is the location right on the Cotswold Way.






As the coach road between Bath and Chipping Camden, the Cotswold Way is dotted with pubs and inns every five miles or less. I wanted to come, partly because spring comes a little earlier here than in Maryland and I am tired of winter. Also I have been carrying around memories of a visit years ago, when a group of us came out to stay in a B&B and do some walking.  We were meandering along in these rich velvety green fields when a tumultuous rain soaked us to the bone. We ran across the fields, quickly found a pub, and dried off by the fire with a pint. We were talking and laughing and having the best time.






These signposts serve as guides through the fields






It’s a comfort to know you are always within a few miles of a pub and a pint with the beauty of the  Cotswolds behind you.























	

	


			
				
				


		

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Shopping self-serve for holidays–going really local in my Baltimore neighborhood
						

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Self-serve pottery: a great way to shop local. 






The other day, distressed over the onset of Christmas commercialism, I was walking my dog Jojo through my neighborhood, when I stumbled upon a tiny shop that has brightened my whole attitude toward the holidays.





It was the tiniest shop, actually a little cupboard, about the size of a small refrigerator, set up on the sidewalk with beautifully crafted cups and vases in speckled vanilla whites and rich sea blues and grass-greens. I eyed a cup with a perfectly round rim, in vanilla white, with brown speckles, sprinkled over it like a friendly freckled face. This is White Hill self-serve pottery, without a lock, on a narrow residential street in Baltimore.





I took two cups and felt like a thief. The sign said you could pay by Venmo, credit card or cash. Without my wallet, I decided I would pay when I got back home. Then I ventured up the steps of the house and met the potter, Alison Hershberger, elbow-deep in wet clay at the potter’s wheel wedged between displays of pottery wares on the front porch of the white frame house. Alison, a fair-haired, fair woman with a broad smile, was welcoming and relaxed in tennis shoes and a simple green dress covered in a sweatshirt.





No worries, Allison said.










“It’s always been very low key, “ says Alison.  “It started out as a hobby. I never set out to have to make money. In that state, it has really boomed.” All out of her house, from making the cups, baking in a kiln on the back porch, glazing, selling from the tiny shop and mailing online orders out. She has a computer to spit out labels and a postal service ap to assess and pay for postage. 





It’s the epitome of going local.










The self serve idea, rooted in an honor system and good work, is working for an increasing number of homegrown enterprises around the country, although Alison notes people of her Mennonite faith have done it for years, selling soap, fruit and other homemade products. The homespun trend, however, is enabled and magnified by technology, such as Venmo, postal service aps and Facebook.





Her initial qualms about opening her yard to customers died down as she met curious neighbors and appreciative patrons.  “The longer I lived here I felt safe. The honor system usually makes people rise to the challenge.”










One person paid $10 for a $22 cup, and four or five pieces disappeared.  But otherwise, it is scandal-free and most convenient for her customers and for her schedule of community work and parenting.





 When she first moved to Baltimore, from the rolling hills of Stuarts Draft, located about nine miles from Staunton, Virginia, this endeavor was way down the priority list. “I was already addicted to the potting, but I wasn’t sure if it was going to work.” Her five children ranged in age from 19 months to ten years old.





Her husband Darrell, who is now head of a school in Hampden, had signed them both up for classes at Blue Ridge Community College only to discover Alison was more gifted in making pots than he. He now designs glazes while she has become the artisan, throwing herself into making perfect pots, plates, bowls and pitchers of all shapes and sizes.





“To turn aside and create something that really benefited my mothering, I always get involved intensely in social situations and in the community. Pottery is a delight to turn aside to.”





In the process, Alison has perfected her designs, including a slight turned-out lip in the coffee mug for the best drinking and strongly joined handles for old-fashioned cups that are easy to grip. A commission for a café in New York City called for over 200 cups, But she prefers making her own practical wares on her own time schedule, when her children are at school.






This is my perfect cup for tea.  You can see the bottom and it has a sturdy handle.






Her signature color is subtle white with brown specks, which sells the best. She may sell online, in craft shows, as well as from self-serve to neighbors, family, coffee drinkers and random customers. “A lot of dog walkers,” she adds, nodding to me, a convert to this easy transaction.





 For the next December weekends, she will be bringing her cups and bowls to Waverly Market in Baltimore. at 32nd and Barclay Street. You can also order online.
















	

	


			
				
				


			

					
Baltimore Orchard Project celebrates a new mural and apple harvest
						

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Artist Teresa Hammann at work on the mural she created for the Baltimore Orchard Project





by Jonathan Simpson





Guest writer





The Baltimore Orchard Project (BOP) celebrate a unique new mural  that was painted on the road near the BOP orchard in the city’s Druid Hill Park.  The artist is  Teresa Hammann, a graduate of Maryland Institute College of Art, who painted the scene this summer.  The mural features sunflowers, trees with pears and other fruits, a Baltimore oriole and a block tagged with Baltimore Orchard Project.





While Hammann is the main artist, she took suggestions from  bystanders on what to include in the mural itself. So it feels like not only her work  but the work of the community as well. “As people were walking by, they would say, “you should add this’, or ‘you should add that,’” Hammann recalled.





So, it isn’t just Hammann’s creation, but it is also the community that was involved in a way. On Sunday, October 22,  Hammann opened the mural up to let the community will “help finish the work”, by adding more flowers and details using stencils, said Forest Fleischer, co-president of the Baltimore Orchard Project.





The mural at Druid Hill Park, on Red Road near the soccer field and adjoining the community garden, was celebrated There were tool sharpening classes, apples, cider-making in addition to the mural work.





The event is one of many BOP projects to find and promote sources of healthy food in the city. Healthy food is a necessity for all, the project states, but not everyone gets to access it, especially people in poor communities where food deserts are common, and the people there don’t always have the knowledge or resources to grow their own food. The Baltimore Orchard Project, which began in 2012,  is doing its part to help change the food disparities in Baltimore City,  with a group of members dedicated to education and finding economical sources of food to share. In September members harvested 709 pounds of apples from an orchard located on the grounds of Baltimore Country Club to share with those in need.





“We educate people of the existing fruit trees and orchards in the city. We also look to expand on those fruit trees. So, if people already have an orchard, they want to add more or maybe they want to establish one on their own on their own, and we’ll help them do that,” said  Fleischer.





Fleischer, who grew up on a farm in Carroll County,  found BOP offered her the opportunity  “to experience more nature and the outdoors part of Baltimore, and that’s really helped me to get involved here,” she added. “We are in this green space and even though our focus is fruit trees,  it is still important to add to the green spaces in Baltimore.” 







Cider-making at Druid Hill





Adding final touches to the mural







It helps that the project is located in Druid Hill Park, the 745-acre park developed by Frederick Olmstead, the creator of Central Park.  In a grassy plain, the group holds meetings and events ranging from how to take better care of garden tools to tree planting.





The orchard features beautiful fruit trees, which the group planted two years ago. The trees are beginning to bear fruit, including apples, berries,  and pears.






A view of the fruit trees at Druid Hill   (photo by Jonathan Simpson)






 Fenced off near those trees is a flourishing community garden where urban dwellers can plant fruit and vegetables. It’s quite a sight to see and if you keep on walking around the campus there are various fields for soccer, baseball, and  tennis with a tennis court right across from the park headquarters building.     It’s a great place to take a walk, sit and walk by the fruit trees or play sports nearby.             












Note:  I’m honored to have been named a board member for Baltimore Orchard Project recently. I think it’s a great cause; I’m really into more trees and more nature, especially in areas that haven’t been served in the city.





I’ll be helping with the apple cider press Sunday for the “InCider” event which reminds me of cool fall days growing up when we gathered all the apples that had fallen on the ground in baskets.  We’d  wash them in a big tin tub, then throw a mix of  red and green apples into the mill, along with a few yellow jackets, to produce this amazing aromatic golden drink.





It’ll be fun and delicious at the park so come Sunday if you are anywhere nearby.





Lavinia











	

	


			
				
				


		

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Pumpkins: take your pick in white, green, blue,  orange, or warty at the Hudson’s
						

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 Hudson grandchildren Aria and Elora enjoy working with the different pumpkins on their farm (photo by Donna Hudson )











No, these pumpkins didn’t get bleached in the wash.  They are new hybrids that are spinning off from the traditional orange jack-o’-lanterns.  These are grown by Michael and Donna Hudson on their farm in Virgilina, Virginia and sold at 1023 Foster Lane, South Boston, Virginia. White ones, Donna says, are easy to decorate.  You can just paint them.












How about these warty specimen? The bumps come from deposits of sugar.















For a more elegant look, the blue-green Cinderella pumpkin is a favorite for October weddings. According to Martha Stewart, the Cinderella or Rouge Vif d’Estampe,  was popular in French markets in the 1880s. Burpee introduced these beautiful pumpkins to the United States in 1880, but they didn’t catch on then. But my nieces,cousin and nephews who married in October all highlighted their buffets with these gem-like pumpkins that they got from the Hudson’s.










These beautifully rounded pumpkins offer a range of color and are great for decoration.  They are not as good for carving. (photo by Donna Hudson )






The old-fashioned Jack-O’-Lantern remains the favorite of most people, Donna says. (Read more about the legends of Halloween and Stingy Jack below.)










You might not notice, with all the big fat pumpkins out on farm stands and grocery stores, but this wasn’t a good year for pumpkins for  Michael and Donna.





“We probably got 1/3 of a crop.  We got five inches of rain and when we planted the next ten acres, there was another hard rain. 





“When that happens seeds get washed away and the little plants drown,” says Donna, who is not deterred by this bad season. “Because a good year is a good year.” And 2022 was a good year.





“Last year we had pumpkins out the wazoo,” she says.










The flow of pumpkins from their farm  goes  steadily.  They sells bins to people who run seasonal stands in cities and towns within a 100-mile radius of their farm, which includes Hillridge Farm in Youngsville,North Carolina, as well as their home yard outside of South Boston, a small city 125 miles southwest of Richmond.   Even though the pretty blue pumpkins — the Cinderellas–were washed away this year, the Hudsons bought a transfer truck  and bought a load for their customers.  “Our customer expect them,” says Donna.





And then there was Covid, another bad year.  They grew a perfect crop of what they call “field trip” pumpkins, which are just the size for children to take home after field trips to farms. They had to plow most of them under.   “In the fall, there were no field trips,” notes Donna, who has the confidence and good humor of a school teacher, her other day job.





This year the sales of the little pumpkins are booming, with names like Baby Boo and Sweetie Pie.





With her years of experience of picking and assessing thousands of pumpkins from years of producing them, Donna offers some tips on selecting the perfect pumpkin for carving:










    

  • Look for a heavy pumpkin; that means it’s solid inside.  “If it’s watery inside, it’s not going to last.”
    • 




  • Select one with a solid stem. And never pick up by the stem.
    • 




  • Avoid pumpkins with any soft spots or slices. “Once it starts to rot, it smells terrible.  If we see ’em with a soft spot, we get ’em before they rot and feed ’em to the cows.”
    • 




  • Check out new varieties.
    • 




  • If the weather is hot, store in a cool place.With proper care and selection, your pumpkin should last until Christmas.
    • 






As for toasting the seeds and making pie of the meat, she advises a pumpkin bred for that purpose, called a pie pumpkin.












AllRecipes has over 130 pumpkin pie recipes to choose from. Enjoy!





Where to find them:  The Hudson’s roadside stand, at 1023 Foster Lane, South Boston, Virginia, is open Tuesday-Friday, 1 until dark and Saturdays 9 a.m.-dark. You can find mums, gourds, hay bales, sweet potatoes and pumpkins.






Why do we use pumpkins at halloween?  Why is halloween supposed to be scary?





Halloween has its origins in a truly scary Irish myth, starring a menacing character named Stingy Jack. According to Encyclopedia Britannica,  Jack didn’t make it to heaven when he died and wandered around the Irish countryside as a lost soul, inspiring terror and mischief. The Irish carved demonic faces in turnips to scare him away. 





When the Irish immigrants moved to the United States, they carved pumpkins, which were more common and bigger for making a scary face. So you have Jack of the lantern.





The legend of Halloween adds a layer of horror to the Jack-o’-lantern story.  Halloween,based on a Celtic myth, marks the end of summer.  According to the legend, souls of the dead who passed away in the last year, travel back to the human world.  And other lost souls from other times return to their homes. Now, these spirits are not all-bad.  But you never know. . .








	

	


			
				
				


		

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Cole Brothers: from fish to blackberries
						

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They have raised bumper crops of blackberries, but this year might be their last















The Cole boys had been out at sea, living and fishing for a living on their boats, when they decided to cast their fate back home in the red clay of Halifax County in a blackberry patch–a huge, cultivated blackberry patch with berries the size of golf balls. Their father was getting ready to retire from his apple orchard business. “He told us he heard from the grocery stores that blackberries could bring a pretty high dollar,” say Jeff Cole, taking a brief break from bringing berries in from the fields, established now for over 30 years.






Jeff and Joey Cole with Bailey, taking a brief break in the middle of blackberry harvest






“We could see the fishing industry was getting crowded. Instead of buying boats, we took the proceeds and invested it in berries. We had lived on the boats. We didn’t have homes. . . And now we were home,” Jeff explains.





They began in 1986 with an acre of blackberries and an acre of raspberries in the farming community of Vernon Hill. Demand for fresh local produce was growing.  They struck deals with grocery giants, Richfood and Ukrops, bringing in the berries as they ripened. Local. Local. was their calling card. Dealing with some other chain grocery stores posed some problems because they could not always predict when the berries would ripen. “They want to know way in advance, and we couldn’t always make that call,” says Jeff.












The fresh berries sold themselves: Three times as big as the little wild ones, and twice as sweet, without the occasional hard bits. Pretty soon the Cole brothers one acre grew to 15 acres, mostly blackberries.





From our house in Halifax, we would drive up three miles to their farm, a simple white building where they kept produce refrigerated until they could deliver it to a market, at a cool 31 to 34 degrees. My mother made blackberry dumplings, which remains my favorite dessert. Bunched and baked in a packet of dough, the juices would bubble out in sweet little rivulets running in the cracks and cervices of the pastry (See my mother’s recipe at the bottom.) Or you could just mush them up in cream, which turned the most beautiful deep blue purple. Or you could eat them fresh from the basket.





Pretty soon, as the word spread of these luscious giant berries, the Cole brothers were growing trillions of blackberries on 15 acres and selling them to grocery stores and farmers markets directly and through a middleman. 










As the Cole brothers moved from fish to berries, they confronted a plethora of issues.   They fought all varieties of insects, recruited pickers in a region that is losing population,  and coped with devastating weather. In 2016, the temperature in April dropped to 25-26 degrees. They lost the whole crop, $300,000 without insurance to cushion the blow. And now they are thinking they are ready to retire.





The brothers pride themselves on their service, carrying the berries to market on the same day that they are picked and keeping them at a cool 32 degrees. They are transported from the field to the refrigerated house where workers sort and  put them in plastic containers until Joey moves them. Some go to a Richmond marketer who delivers them to five different farmers markets in Virginia. Most end up in Jessup or Northern Virginia.










“We are trying to provide our customers with a service. Say they order 750 count. We can get the order through that day. That’s a service. That California can’t do,” explains Joey. Competing with Mexico prices adds to the competition. “When they aren’t there, the market is red hot.”





The pests are a worry at every stage. Going without any pesticide at all would result in massive rotting or failure, Jeff says. The fruit fly, for example, hatches in the berry. Gray mold infects the blossom, June bugs and Japanese beetles add to the enemy list, not to mention gray rust and leaf rust.





They use a modified shift trellis system for support that keeps the berries off the ground and allows them to ripen layer by layer for more precise picking and avoid pests that devour the ripe berries.






The berries ripen in stages on the trellis system.






The brothers have figured out pest control but seasonal labor is more unpredictable. They have some faithful skilled pickers like Vanessa Venable, who has worked at the Cole Brothers for 32 years. But half the labor pool they relied on has died and the younger generation which relied on farming has moved away. The brothers would like to use migrant labor, but they do not have housing.





The crew of pickers today will work from 6:30-11:30 a.m. They will receive from $12 an hour or $5 a flat. Once a girl picked 54 flats in one day, which netted her over $200 for a morning’s work. The average is 30 trays or $150.   Vanessa gently tugs the berry which drops into her palm and then into a flat. Without a nod to the heat, she glides from bush to bush, selecting the black berries and leaving the red to ripen. 






Vanessa has the knack of berry picking






“You’ve got to go fast without damaging the fruit,” explains Jeff.





It has become more difficult to deliver the freshest and best quality to the markets. Joey will return from an overnight run to Richmond for farmers markets, while Jeff tends to the fields. Up since 4 a.m., he has rounded up about 20 pickers who will pull the berries in the morning.  About 80 percent show up. The unpredictability of the workers, coupled with the decrease in laborers, makes for stress.





 “We’re too small to be big and too big to be small,” says Joey.





They have scaled back from 15 acres down to four and say this is their last harvest. They are ready to sell the farm.





The price of berries fails to keep up with the increases in inflation. “We can’t continue to do at the highest level.We’re burning the candle at both ends,” explains Jeff. “I tell you, the world is pushing the small guy out.





“I’m grateful for what’s taken place,” he says. It’s a good life being self-employed, We’d like a few more dollars per flat. . .  But our season’s over.”











Bailey greets drive-up customers who make up a small fraction of the business






RECIPE for Blackberry Dumplings (makes 6)





From my mother Vin Edmunds (Lavinia)





For the pastry:





2 cups flour





1 tsp salt





1/2 cup butter or lard (1 stick)





4 TB water





1 TB sugar





1/2 cup blackberries per dumpling





(Shortcut–use Pepperidge Farms puff pastry for the dough)





Mix flour, sugar, salt, butter, then add water gradually.  Make pastry.  Gather dough into one ball. Roll out to about 1/4 inch thick. Divide into about six sections. In the middle of each section, add 1/2 to 3/4 cup berries, 1/2 pat butter, 3/4 TB sugar.  Gather the dough at the top and twist together at the top.  Place in greased cookie sheet or pan.  Bake at 450 for ten minutes.  Reduce heat and bake another 30 minutes until brown. Serve with ice cream or whipped cream.






	

	


			
				
				


		

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I am taking a break to celebrate the end of a year with Jojo, with thanks to my friend Cynthia and others along the way who have been understanding when she has runaway or eaten their shoes. It was not clear when I first picked up Jojo last year that she would be the domesticated sort. She is definitely a country dog who can run circles around me and others in her path.
						

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Cynthia , Jojo and me celebrating birthdays March 20











Jojo, originally named Joyce, was skittish, afraid of her own shadow and me, at every step.  





I enlisted Cynthia to help me pick her up at the designated place somewhere in suburban Maryland, where the Canine Humane Network had arranged for people to claim.





Howling in trauma, these 30 homeless dogs had arrived from Texas via transfer truck that night.  





During Covid, after the death from cancer of my sweet gentle Hali, I had been scouring BARCs, Petfinder, SPCAs from Baltimore to southern Virginia, everywhere, for a dog to keep me company. Hali was a faithful, low maintenance English shepherd of unknown origins and stayed in my room, discreetly by the doorway.  Everyone was applying for dogs then.  It was only after appealing with my sob story about losing Hali, that somehow, someone on the application’s other end, saw that I could be a responsible dog-owner. 





I had borrowed a crate from a friend but didn’t even know how to open and lock it.  Cynthia knew. She was once a pet columnist for a magazine. And I anointed her  as Jojo’s godmother.





Jojo was waiting inside a house taken over by the dog rescuers.  She was stunning. She had a classic bird dog confirmation with unusual black and white markings, smeared as if someone had sprinkled them over her and then rubbed the spots in. She had a wild look in her brown eyes, the color of a woodland stream.





I brought along some treats to offer her to make friends.  But she was scared and dodged them.  Friendship seemed a long way off.  Cynthia, who is now an acupuncturist,then stepped in with the magic touch.  She must have found my dog/s pressure points; pretty soon  Joyce was nuzzling her hand.  Cynthia handed over the leash to me.  I held it firm and reached out to pet Joyce, but she cowered, as if I were going to hit her.  I started to  walk, all she wanted to do was lunge in the opposite direction.






Meeting Jojo for the first time with volunteer from Canine Humane Network in Highland, MD 






I had brought my old expandable leash, but the good rescuers promptly dismissed it in favor of a leash that they had on hand, along with a goody bag full of coupons, food and birth papers.





After I attached the lead, Joyce scampered out in the direction of a shopping center.  I held firm and called out to her but she did not know her name or me. That was when I knew I could change her name–to Jojo.  She just wanted to get away, some place she once called home. Instead of Get Back, as the Beatles sang, I implored, Get Back Here to Where You Belong.





“Hold her tight!” yelled one of the dog savers.  “She is very scared.”





I thought, wait til she gets to my house, a little two-story rowhouse in urban Baltimore. 





I worried whether she would ever adapt.  





And I wondered, where did this terrified dog come from and what had happened to her to make her fear even my hand?





Well, the long story is she came from Australia, an Australian cattle dog.  When the English settlers came to Australia they brought along their sheep dogs, which did not get along in the wide open spaces of the new adopted country.  So they developed a cross between the dingo, and the sheep dog, to come up with both the Australian shepherd, that fuzzy,  friendly looking dog and her cousin, the  sleek, fast Australian cattle dog-herder.  I can see Jojo’s herding instinct, how she will come up and nuzzle my hand, to get me to go on a walk.  Plus she loves to run–and often runs away–as she has done on several occasions. 





On our first trip to the country, with three of my close friends, we walked along a dirt road, lined in tall blue-berried trees mixed with blackberry bushes.






Strolling with Jojo ended up with a run in the country






 We were enjoying the beautiful outdoors when                                                                                              Jojo broke away in a blur of speed, faster than a horse, or even a car.  I despaired she would never come back but told my friends, let’s wait before we panic. After an hour, she came racing back to the doorstep. That was close, I thought.  At least she was safe in the woods. Suppose she did that in the city!












By last summer, after 4 months, I thought she had acclimated to my home pretty well.  We had been walking regularly, morning and night.   I had invited some friends to dinner.  After weeks of trying to find a date, they all finally committed for dinner at 5:30.  So I took Jojo on a walk at 4:30, along StonyRun, one of the most scenic walks in the city, along a stream in a band of woods full of birds and greenery.We got back in time to take the chicken out of the oven–but somehow the door was left ajar for an instant. Jojo, seeing her opportunity, charged out the door.  I dashed out after her, but she thought I was playing a game.  Down the alley, around the corner, into Keswick Road, she plunged – where I knew she would be run over.  Promptly at 5:30, she stopped traffic. My dinner guests were at the front of the stalled traffic, as a policeman–who happened to be a K-9 specialist–screeched to a halt, leaped out of his car, and tried to catch and reach out to my runaway dog. 





I was waiting in the alley with a treat and her leash..  The policeman herded Jojo towards me, where I was waiting with some of her favorite treats.  (Yes, herding can work both ways.) Not interested, she ran right past me.  I signaled to the policeman the direction to my back door, and we herded her inside.  





Meanwhile my dinner guests were marveling at the wild dog running around in the street.  They apologized for being late, and laughed when they recognized Jojo.  “That was YOUR dog!” Katie said as she handed me a bottle of wine.





Since then Jojo has gotten into other trouble.  At dog school, she failed.  She wouldn’t lie down on command.  And on graduation day when at doggie play time, she just kept running around and around and wouldn’t come when called. For 15 minutes, she had the class of obeying mutts with their owners in hostage as we tried to catch her. Elizabeth, the patient dog trainer, helped to herd her into  Howl, the adjoining gourmet dog store, where we cornered her amid bongs and bitable bones.





These days,  instead of running away as much, her major habit is chewing up and eating anything she can find.   I have a whole drawer full of socks nibbled at the toe or heel.  She snarfed up three pieces of a jigsaw puzzle the family was slaving over for three days over Christmas only to discover those three critical pieces missing.  She’s dined on the edge of my best Oriental rug.





I might have given up, if not for Cynthia, who is always there with a solution.  She and her husband Mark have invited us to their home with a fenced-in yard in the wilds of Baltimore County that is perfect for Jojo to run around in.  Her two very domestic cats are fairly welcoming, given that they are natural enemies and Jojo usually goes into her house and eats up their food.  I have spent some relaxing times on Cynthia and Mark’s porch with Jojo curled up at my feet and the cats at bay in the kitchen.  Yes, Jojo has learned to curl up and relax.





Today I am celebrating her first birthday, the anniversary of her arrival into my home, and Cynthia’s birthday.  What a pleasure!  Now when I wake up, instead of sleeping in my room, she trots up the steps and wags her tail and looks at me as if to say, It’s time to get up.  She doesn’t bark except when strange people come to my door, like she snarled with bared teeth at candidate Wes Moore (now governor) who came campaigning in the neighborhood  a few months ago. That was ok, we had a nice talk through the glass door.





At Common Grounds,she waited tied up to a column while I ordered my cappuccino.  Lots of people came up and talked dogs as I sipped my coffee on the deck. Where did you get your dog? What is your dog’s name?  Easy conversation -starters.  It paved the way for a milkbone from the waitress who eyed Jojo through the window. A puppy approached with his owner,more pets and geniality.  





My daughter Emma has tapped into Jojo’s intelligence.  She has taught her her to spin, lie down, and shake hands.  Jojo will crawl into her lap like a cockapoodle, one of those real lap dogs.  But she still loves to run in the country. I will not let her loose in the city for fear she will run into a car, and not be so lucky as she was to encounter a Baltimore city policeman with a love of dogs.










But so many people do love dogs, including me.  They bring out the love in us.  





Happy birthday, Jojo and Cynthia!





(Do check out adoptions, at Canine Humane Network. More are now available much more frequently.)



























































	

	


			
				
				


		

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Magical drinks and festive, cozy teas
						

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The most festive drink, glittery and delicious
Butterfly Glitter Lemonade






I was strolling around my neighborhood along Falls Road, when I came upon a treasure trove of drinks at Whitehall Mill market, a sprawling 1798 renovated mill.  Ariel Hess was stirring up this magical concoction called Butterfly Glitter Lemonade.  It started out a beautiful blue; when she poured in lemon, it became brilliant purple with bits of glitter  swirling around in it, like stars in a fantasy sky. A winter’s festive lemonade. (The glitter is edible and all for show.  It has little taste.)





In this season when so much alcohol is passed around, it is great to find exciting nonalcoholic drinks that satisfy. 





A few of the teas have a bit of caffeine kick.














Ariel Hess makes the festive lemonade at Wight Tea





This was just the introduction to Wight Tea, the enterprise of tea wizards –brother and sister– Brittany and Joey Wight.  I went back today to see what other imaginative drinks they have created.  While the lemonade is very tasty, made with edible blue flowers from Thailand, it’s like a whim attached to the substantial, unusual offerings of Wight Tea, from lavendar Earl Gray, a fragrant smokey elixir, to the Shenandoah which one patron compared to the taste of a campfire.  





Brittany was there at the little shop carefully measuring, setting up and brewing tea leaves with an assortment of spices and herbs for a steady stream of regular customers. All the tea is organic from growers they verify for growing healthy, excellent plants.






Brittany works in the shop at Whitehall Mill in Baltimore






“Me and my brother always loved to drink tea. We drank with my grandmother in her kitchen,” says Brittany between brews.  Her grandmother did not offer them fancy British or Indian teas: we are “Russian Polish Jews,” the tea came from basic tea bags, she says.  But the memory of that tea time bringst back cozy peaceful feelings. Later in life, Brittany began to experiment with different blends and leaves.  She absorbed the basics of the tea business as a worker at a tea shop in Columbia and persuaded her brother to work there.  They’d get together at their parents’ kitchen table and share tea tastes.  





They planned a tea shop at Whitehall that unfortunately was opened in the middle of the Pandemic without  many customers.  But they built a business as a supplier to restaurants, shops and online customer.  “Our vision then, and still today was to create interesting loose leaf tea blends.”  





 For anyone who dismisses tea as boring, you have to visit their shop.  “We’re switching it up,” says Brittany.





One of her favorites is the blueberry basil rooiebos.  “We try flavors we enjoy together, like fruit we like and basil, but blueberries and basil are not commonly used together,”  Brittany explains.





Another unique brew is the cookie butter late. Or matcha in a variety of forms, from latte to lemonade.
























Coffee lovers, you might just find the matcha gives you a gentler buzz than your caffeine brew.  The powder is made from specially grown green tea leaves, traditionally consumed in East Asia. In Japan, matcha is used in tea ceremonies that incorporate a meditative aspect. 





“I love the flavor” says Hannah, who is watching Brittany beat the bright green powder and water with a bamboo whisk for her drink.  “It’s got caffeine but it doesn’t shock my system or give me anxiety like coffee.”










The day’s tea menu changes everyday as specials sell out.  Wight Tea also serves a limited number of snacks such as avocado salad or biscotti.  You can order online and pick up at the shop.





 

	

	


			
				
				


		

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Toast to Albemarle CiderWorks!
						

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Charlotte Shelton touts the vintage apples which make the delicious old-fashioned ciders at Albemarle CiderWorks.






Ditch the Red Delicious; forget Granny Smith, Gala and Fuji. . . 





If you want a really tasty, tart apple, try Goldrush. The sweet but astringent taste bowled me over.  The bite has a crunch resonating with the falling leaves and a tart sweetness that lingers after the bite.  It has a distinctive, friendly personality (if an apple can have a personality)–light yellow with a faint blush-and light brown freckles.  Introduced in the late 20th century from the Purdue University breeding program, the Goldrush is one of the heirloom varieties featured in the flesh or fermented in cider at Albemarle CiderWorks, in North Garden, an orchard just south of Charlottesville.





And if Charlotte Shelton  has anything to do with it, ciders made with Goldrush and other vintage apples, will be as good or better than a glass of wine to accompany a gourmet meal. It’s “food friendly,” with a 9.9 percent alcohol content, according to Charlotte, owns the family-run business with her two brothers.





“We got interested in these apples for flavor.  Apples comprise a huge range of flavors,” ranging from tart to sweet, bland to acidic, and aromatic, hinting of citrus, pear and other fruits, explains Charlotte.  The commonly known apples  such as the Granny Smith, Fuji, and Red Delicious, don’t have “the complex flavor” or the tannins that make a good cider, she says.






I take a bite of the Goldrush.  Wow! The apple cracks with flavor and  the sweet taste lingers .






About 17,000 varieties once thrived on American farms. “Cider was what everyone drank,” says Charlotte. Now there are 250 varieties, but Americans get just a handful of the least tasty ones at the typical grocery store. When Americans moved from farms to the city, apple orchards were abandoned; beer and wine replaced cider.  As for the cider now available in most stores,  Charlotte is disdainful by what she calls “applepop,” which often has sugar or additives and a bland taste in an effort to extend shelf life.






















Tons of vintage apples available by the pound at Albermarle Ciderworks.  







Getting started in cider





It was at a cider-tasting at Monticello in 2007 conducted by the late Tom Burford, the famed apple expert from Amherst County, Virginia, when Charlotte started investigating and growing vintage apples for the establishment of a cidery, with a full range of tastings and online sales. She bought ten different varieties to grow in her family’s orchard.  “I didn’t realize then we were right on the cusp of the interest in cider-making.”





After collecting and growing some 250 varieties, she and her brothers hit upon the idea of establishing a cidery.  Albemarle CiderWorks launched in 2009 and now offers a full range of tastings and online sales, plus seminars on how to grow apples.





And to make good cider, you need the varieties that offer such a range of taste and tanins to make a fementable product. Just as table grapes do not make good wine, the sweet standard apples do not make good cider. 





Harrison revival





Which brings us back to the heirloom varieties, like the Harrison.  “The Harrison is probably the best cider apple America ever produced.  It’s dry and pithy, but presses a rich, high brix juice that makes exceptional cider,” Charlotte says.  Thought to be extinct, a Harrison apple tree was spotted in 1976 by an apple collector in a New Jersey backyard just before it was to be cut down.  The apple grower gathered scions that could be grafted and sent some to Tom Burford who propagated the trees and made them available to the Sheltons.  Today Albermarle CiderWorks is growing 150 Harrison apple trees along with other difficult to find varieties.





Don’t expect a pick-your-own opportunity here, though. The emphasis is on apples for cider. Today deep in the orchard, with the Blue Ridge in the distance, Albemarle CiderWorks hosts a lovely tasting room, along with outdoor tables where visitors sample their favorite ciders. 






A couple touring the area tries out the ciders on the terrace at Albemarle CiderWorks.






I bought a variety of really delicious vintage apples from boxes outside of the tasting room and three bottles of cider that converted me to using cider for pre-dinner drinks with guests.





This year Virginia Hewe’s Crab won the Virginia Governor’s Cup for Best in Show, an annual competition hosted by the Virginia Wineries Association.  The CiderWorks’ cider list describes the Virginia Hewe’s Crab with terms associated with the finest wines: “tart, well-balanced with notes of citrus and pineapple.”  Another unique cider blends Dabinett with Harrison, to produce “notes of white grape and black tea.”

















Cider pioneers





The Sheltons have been pioneers in cidermaking since 2007.  Brother Charles is the cidermaker and Brother Bill manages the nursery.  Other family members help out.  Charlotte is the enthusiastic cider promoter. 





On the day I was there, she was packing a sample box of apples for Food and Wine which will do a piece on ciders next year.  Next week she will be speaking with NPR on vintage apple tasting.   Their prize-winning ciders are available at wine stores throughout the Charlottesville area, plus a few stores in Washington, DC and Montgomery County. See here for full list of stores that feature CiderWorks.





The interest in cider has spread to 50 cideries in Virginia, which will be participating in Virginia Cider Week, November 11-20.  Many of the cideries are CiderWorks neighbors but the competition doesn’t bother the cider connoisseur. 





“We need some critical mass to expand the market,” says Charlotte.  The growth of cideries in Virginia] is “wonderful– as long as they do the right kind of cider.”











	

	


			
				
				


		

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Cynnie Keller Davis and the farming legacy at Bellair
						

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Cynnie Keller Davis and her farm manager form a strong team in the Charlottesville area






 Nestled between vineyards, with the Trump winery as a neighbor and the Blue Ridge as the backdrop, Bellair farm sprawls across 900 acres. It has been a farm of some kind for 200 years.  Today, with the vision of Cynnie Keller Davis, Bellair is flourishing as the most popular Community Supported Agriculture (CSA) farm in the Charlottesville area.





I was intrigued when I met Cynnie at my Hollins College reunion this summer.  At Hollins, (which is now Hollins University) we didn’t have any agriculture classes to guide farming careers.  Cynnie had majored in art history and spent her junior year in Paris. How did she end up farming?





To find out  I drove up to see her from Halifax, around curving two-lane roads, up to southern Albermarle County where the straggly fields smooth out like green velvet.




















Cynnie, casual and relaxed in her khaki slacks and moss-green sweater, reflects on the long porch overlooking the property that is thoughtfully planted and producing bumper crops this summer.












A swatch of meadow flowers to the left, a dogwood tree in the middle of her kitchen’s panoramic windows, and somewhere down the hill lie vegetable gardens, in the thick of a rich harvest full of ripening tomatoes, herbs, onions, and more. And further down the farm road are 30 cows, 30 hogs, and 1000 laying hens.










Back in 2006, she faced a major dilemma when her husband Mike Davis died of lung cancer.  Still dealing with grief, she had to decide whether to continue farming.










With a Master’s degree in social work from Virginia Commonwealth University, she was  building a practice as a clinical social worker in Charlottesville. Mike had taken on the role of managing the farm. The bottom lands were leased to commodities farmers who grew soybeans and corn.






“We had suffered through everything farmers went through.  It seemed really impossible.  There had always been the question: should we throw in the towel?’” she recalls.










Concerns about chemicals and industrial agriculture
But the seeds for an organic farm that was a vital part of the community had already been planted in Cynnie’s mind.





As a child growing up in rural Louisiana, she had been alarmed at the devastation caused by DDT after reading Rachel Carson’s Silent Spring in high school. She recognized at that time that DDT was commonly used in agriculture, including on her family’s farm. Later The Omnivore’s Dilemma, published in 2006, added to Cynnies’s concerns about the pitfalls of agribusiness and the potential dangers of fertilizer and chemicals in food.





“With the growing interest in eating local food following Pollan’s book I thought there might be an opportunity to orient the farm business to the local community,” Cynnie says.





On a visit to her daughter in Washington, DC, at a Saturday farmer’s market in 2009, she was impressed by the produce of New Morning Farm from Pennsylvania.  “I talked with the owner. I couldn’t believe organic vegetables could be so beautiful.” She convinced the owner to come to Charlottesville and evaluate the possibilities of growing organic produce on her property.  





 “He thought it was doable.  Mainly it gave me the courage to try.”





The Pennsylvania farmer also gave what she considers the most valuable advice for starting the new venture: hire the best farm manager you can find, one who can grow food as well as market it.  Today Michelle McKenzie, a devotee of good food and nature-friendly farming practices, holds that key job. Michelle, a graduate of William and Mary College, has no degree or formal training in farming.  “I consider myself a lifelong learner.  I pick up information from conferences, farm visits, podcasts.” She learned the ropes over two years working under Jamie Barrett, the previous manager.





 Enthusiasm for fresh local food feeds popularity of farm to table





The farm-to-table movement has fed the enthusiasm for fresh local food.  “I see it in the farms that have popped up around here.  And I see it in the huge enthusiasm in our customers,” Cynnie notes.  





Together Cynnie and Michele practice regenerative farming techniques that are environmentally friendly and innovative.    Without deep preconceptions about farming, they are free to come up with creative ideas and projects that appeal to their discerning customers. Cynnie acts as CEO on the business side while Michelle works in the field and manages labor and marketing as well as the crops.





Touring the barn and farm





We meet Michele down at the barn where farm workers are packing bags of homegrown garlic and mushrooms for the CSA members.  The barn is a beautiful two story open-air building built in the 1930s.    They’ve got standard mixed greens and turnips along with bok choy and choy sum.  Bellair offers its own organic, grass-fed filet mignon and beef brisket, while selling the luscious cheeses from Caramont farms and blue corn grits and other non_GMO grains from Deep
Roots Milling, among others. 






Filling orders for CSA members











The CSA has attracted some 400 locavores ready to embrace –and eat—Belair’s delectable produce.  Members pay $38.50 for a full share, for the basics, each week but often add on specialties which are available through Belair’s markets. “The CSA is the main part of what we do and makes up 60 percent of our income,” says Cynnie.  The remainder comes from sales at markets and events. Members can pick up their shares at seven markets in the area or at the farm on Fridays and Saturdays.  Or they can get delivery in certain areas.  Periodically, on selected days, anyone can pay $20 for whatever they can pick on the farm.





As word has spread, demand increases for other products so that customers can do almost all their food shopping through Bellair.  “They will pick up a share of vegetables, and someone will say, oh, do you sell eggs? Then they will ask it they sell chickens?  turkeys. . .” says Michelle.










On a tour of the farm, we see a pretty field, which looks silver from a distance. It’s a mix of buckwheat, sun hemp and sorghum that has grown as tall as corn. Michelle has bush-hogged an intricate maze, to be used for fall fest October 22-23, a two-day family affair on site.  After the festival, rather than plow away the old corn stalks, the remaining stalks will be turned into fodder for the soil.





Healthy pigs, healthy land










While the fields are green and rich, the pigs in a well-planted pasture steal the spotlight. These dark brown pigs are the prettiest, neatest pigs I’ve ever seen.  They are rooting around in a pasture full of ironweed, golden rod and fescue. They also feed on corn in troughs. And while they are not strictly organic due to the content of the feed, they are what they refer to as “pasture-raised.”










The knee-high two-tier fence is electrified and powered by the sun to keep the pigs in.





The pigs are moved every three weeks. “If they are kept here, it would be a mud pit,” explains Michelle.





The pigs carve out an under-story of shrubbery to attract quail, a species which has been vanishing from the area due to destruction of their habitat, mostly due to the rampant development around the Charlottesville area.  “We are trying to diversify the types of animals and in the environment so that they diversify themselves,” says Michelle. “We are doing less so nature will do its thing.”





Through her newsletter, designed for members, Michelle promotes the crops, recipes and new projects in hopes that more people will adjust their tastes to what is in season. 





Challenges 





The challenges in organic farming go beyond the many challenges of standard farming which wipe out weeds with the help of pesticides and fertilizers.  “You have to figure out ways to manage disease and weeds. But part of their strength is the diversity of the vegetable operation,” says Michelle.  This wasn’t the best year for tomatoes due to the abundance of rain. But the other flourishing crops made up the difference.





There is also the challenge of year-round reliable labor.  Bellair sets up decent work schedules and pays minimum wage and higher which sets it apart from many of the area farms. The mostly-all women workers work for the season and then return to school or their families. This year for the first time, they hired two Mexican workers.





As for other major challenges?  “Honestly, it’s been a great joy and a constant preoccupation. . . . trying to wrap our minds around all the pasturelands.  Now we’re thinking about managing for both wildlife and agriculture. I’m always thinking of ways to sell more at the CSA and trying to develop more events to bring people here,” says Cynnie.





As the farm strives to reach a break-even point, it has grown in Charlottesville as the source of great fresh produce. Cynnie approaches her success with guarded satisfaction. “At this point, I feel a deep love for the land and a deep sense of community. There is a lot of joy in harvest time and in the spring planting. And I feel joy in seeing my vision come into being and seeing it evolve.”











Franklin (Delano Roosevelt) enjoying a mudpuddle at Bellview farm


	

	


			
				
				


			

		
					
	

		

					
A visit to charming La Torre Tolfe in Tuscany
						

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Mania with her dog Daisy at the end of her workday






Atop the Tuscany hills, Mania Castelli has a host of enterprises  to tend to:  hotel, winery, olive oil production, tastings and sales, and a restaurant-plus barnyard animals near and dear to her veterinarian heart.





When I first met her early in the morning her during my stay at La Torre Tolfe, she was jogging and at the end of the long day working on farm projects, she was out to tend to a sick sheep. She’s involved in every aspect of this beautiful Tuscany estate located just 3 kilometers from Siena.






The hotel includes a restaurant offering organic  fresh vegetables and grains along with olive oil and wine






Today using regenerative methods to replenish the soil,  she and her husband Mark have built up a solid business in agritourism,  boosting crops for excellent wine, olive oil and a wonderful restaurant using the fruits of their labor.





It started eight years ago when Mania, a practicing veterinarian, and her husband Mark, a marine biologist, moved from  England to take over the family business. Her grandfather Luigi Castelli had made a fortune in the steel operations. He and his wife Lunella bought the place in 1953 as a holiday getaway.  There was an ancient wine operation, dating back to the 1316, along with an olive grove and vineyard.  Mania remembers the beauty of the landscape and the great times coming here as a child and making home movies of children’s stories with family members. 





Portrait of Lunella Castelli, Mania’s grandmother, who guided renovation on the house. They restored the 8th century watchtower and added spacious bathrooms





When Mark and Mania  surveyed the farm for its possibilities for relocation, they were disturbed by the damages of erosion, not the beautiful landscape that defines the property today.  ”We didn’t find it very beautiful,” recalls Mania, who co-owns it today with her brother.





At the beginning, resolving to make the farm work, Mania threw herself into turning the 17-bedroom house into a hotel.  The house had been housing workers in the sharecropping system predominant in Italy then. She asked the workers on the original staff to stay on to work in the restaurant and hotel. “ I told them, ‘Let’s share this with other people.’” She herself took on duties as a waitress and concierge, learning on the job. “It was very much, ‘Let’s try this.’”





They hired Giacomo Mastretta, an excellent winemaker who valued their approach to making organic wine. 





They found a chef who valued their organic approach to develop some new takes on traditional
Tuscan dishes. In this multi-pronged effort, every piece, from the wine-making to the restaurant, all worked together.





Wine dating from the 1970s is still in the cellar–musty but drinkable.  On a tour we went through Etruscan tunnels that go back thousands of years.  The tower was built to guard Siena from invasion.





“Then the restaurant became very important,” she continues.  “It’s a place to showcase the wine.  Wine is  a very sexy product and can bring people in.”





For Mania and Mark, the turnaround to organic farm producing olives and grapes and tourist haven has come with a lot of sweat and toil and experimentation. Using regenerative methods is a key part of their philosophy.





As to what precisely that means, Mania gives a long answer.  “It has to translate into something financially viable and that is carbon.  It means a whole bundle of practices added together that reduce the cost and damage done to the earth by farming.






Healthy organic grapes for wine






Given the current drought in Italy, Mania expresses urgency about the need to adopt more regenerative methods of farming due to the specter of climate change, which is wreaking havoc on Italian farms with increasing heat and lessening precipitation. They work with other farmers in a group, backed by the government of Italy,  to  encourage the adoption of more regenerative farming methods. Taking a scientific approach, they are measuring everything from output to number of insects.





Last year there was rain every afternoon for three months.  That has led to a loss of 30 percent every four years, according to Mark.   





Now there is the drought which has hit southern Italy worst. This year, 2024, is the worst year for rainfall in more than 20 years.   In Sicily and Puglia, drought threatens tourism. Each tourist uses 4 times the amount of the average resident.





On the day I met her,  Mania was strategizing with her colleague, Austrian native Sascha Osterle, to develop more regenerative methods that would increase biodiversity on the farm.  Among their ideas: grow sunflowers and use the oil to fuel the farm machinery: reduce the use of copper, commonly used to treat grapes during drought; turn arable land presently filled with wildflowers into pasture for grazing animals that would provide fertilizer for the soil.





Soon Mania will split the property with her brother, who shares her convictions about regenerative farming and the need to diversify.





Already they have adopted some changes in their effort to be more environmentally conscious.  Mania points to a new method for pruning olive trees, changed from clipping branches all over the tree to leaving just one branch in the middle of the tree in order to conserve and direct growth.






Olive trees are pruned so one main branch is directing growth






She is as excited about promoting the olive oil from La Torre Alle Tolfe as much as about the wine.  She conducts olive oil tastings similar to wine tastings. From a tray of 20 different bottles of olive oil, Mania selects one to try.  She smells it, observes the bottle, then takes a sip.  They grow five varieties of olives—out of 200 in Italy– on the farm. Each one tastes different.  To inform consumers, they have created a booklet on frequently asked questions about olive oil.













Smell and taste olive oil for quality











The approach to the 13-hectare vineyard is similar: minimal intervention and no water to grow the grapes and allow their true identity to come through. “We wyere interested in bringing in more sustainability. We started to use less sulfites. The wine is more alive!”





Located in the Chianti Colli Senesi district, their certified Chianti is made according to the strict rules governing Chianti, composed of 80 percent Sangiovese grapes, aged in concrete lined with glass.  Besides two Chianti, they make a refreshing Rose and two others using different combinations of grapes.







Jackie and Emma Tasting Ros/e at the wine shop. They gave it good reviews.





The delicious wine is not too expensive; chianti costs 15.5 euros  at the shop; the more full complex Chianti Reserve goes for 25 euros.  The Chianti Coli Sense was praised as “rich and fruity, all held together with dusty tannins,” in a great review from the NY Times.





At the wine-tasting earlier in the shop, the rose was so refreshing but I really liked the full-bodied Chianti. I had never really had decent chianti until this glass– dark red, tasting slightly of the earth and sandy soil, which is rich in fossilsThis was  earthy and smooth and All-natural. Cheers!






Chianti which must be grown in the Chianti region







	

	


			
				
				


			

					
Discovering wine, olive oil and pasta on a Tuscany farm
						

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Refeshing Ros/e greeted us for lunch, all made at the farm.






We drive up a narrowing road to the farm where we are staying at la Torre alle Tolfe, which dates back to the 8th century.  In the center is a watch tower, built by a knight of Charlemagne’s to defend the city of Siena, 3 km away.   Now it’s a 50-hectare farm, with quarters for at least 24 guests, really more like a hotel than a farmhouse, with its own wine, olive oil, chef and winemaker (most important).





We are on the 3rd floor







The view from the drive up





The tower for Sienna’s defense





Outdoor seats all around the property







When we arranged to stay at a farmhouse, I had no concept of such an elegant well-run estate. I imagined we’d be staying in little rooms and sharing baths, but each of us has a very well-furnished room, private bathroom and views that frame the neat landscape groves and vineyards as beautifully as the background of Leonardo’s Annunciation, which has been imprinted on my mind since seeing it in person yesterday at the Ufizzi in Florence. 





Agritourism is thriving in Italy





 Emma found this farm in part, owing to the well-organized Agritourism in Italy, which has a fantastic website and directory of certified farmhouses that offer such accommodations. . Agritourism promotes “only real farmhouses authorized, not B and 
B, or holiday homes in the green.” This one has the added bonus, for me at least, of being organic and using regenerative farming. I wish that we had some tourist organization as well done for the beautiful, ailing small farms in Halifax and other small farms in the U.S.





We are starting to relax amid the gentle rolling hills, shimmering silver with olive groves and patched with grapes, topped occasionally red tiled towers.  Very little trash or billboards or mess!














It was an easy one-hour drive from Florence on the two-lane road until the last narrow mile where you could touch the olive trees on either side of our little Italian rental car.  James, Emma and Jackie have really planned everything for this incredible trip to Italy, so I am trying to just sit back and take it all in.  It was a great Christmas present for me and Jackie’s mother Barb, who flew in from Wisconsin to join us on this adventure.  





An Introduction to the farm





Signing in, we get a whiff of a potion they sell and perfume the halls with—olive oil mixed with herbs, all grown and made on the place.  Each of us receives a key with a creature to identify the  room.  Mine is the owl, which hoots, to punctuate the constant hum of the crickets, like the cicada music back in the US.  Bernardo in reception gives an outline of directions but promises not to reveal the secrets of the historic tour we have scheduled for tomorrow. He points out the bottles of wine and water in the refrigerator which we can sign out and pay for later, a nice version of the vending machines in U.S. motels.





We quickly settle into spacious rooms with cool tile floors on the third floor.  On the way up the stairs to the third floor, I note a knight in armor outfit, next to a billiard room and heavy wood antiques fit for a castle. The history seeps through the tall book shelves and portraits on the walls.





























We quickly make our way to lunch, on teakwood tables outside overlooking Chianti hills.  






Lunch: pasta, wine, cheese and rose






For lunch, we gobble up some fresh focaccia with cheese and tomatoes, spaghetti Bolognese and a really nice Rose, slightly effervescent and so refreshing–all made and grown on the premises.





Swimming, tennis, eating and wine





We take a dip in the pool-bright aqua that stood out against the silvery olive leaves.  Then James and I try to play tennis on a court that challenged our reflexes with all the bad bounces.  Little cracks covered with moss and covered lightly with tiny olive leaves. We had fun hitting the dead balls as hard as we could til James’ shoulder ached and my foot hurt.
















Sitting in the Tuscan sun, more relaxed every day here






Dinner is scheduled it for 7:45. We are happy with the House Red, and go through two carafes. It pours as smooth as water, with a rich complex taste, traced to the sandy soil, rich in oyster shells.  There are oyster shell fossils displayed on a shelf as evidence of this land’s former existence under the sea. The soil is one of the reasons for the wine’s excellence.





I choose the Chef’s pasta on the menu—several generous pads of ravioli, covered in a sumptuous olive oil buttery sauce with herbs. Wow!  I will stick by whatever is associated with the kindly chef, whom we will meet tomorrow for pasta-making (and eating).





We keep discovering more and more wonderful food grown and cooked here, from olive oil  and wine to herbs and eggs. All delicious!





Chef in his herb garden





Breakfast with melon prosciutto fresh eggs fruit tart and cappuccino






Sunset dinner at the restaurant






Coming up next: a pasta-making lesson and interview with the owner-farmer, on how they keep it going, all natural and organic in the face of climate change





Finally: a trip underground to the wine cellar via an Etruscan tunnel






	

	


			
				
				


			

		
					
	

		

					
An introduction to gardens, weeds and groundhogs
						

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I confess, I am not a farmer.   Until now, I had not  grown much more than a bunch of kale. 






The mighty groundhog poses for a picture after feasting on the community gardens in Druid Hill Park.  I was looking for a  just ripened tomato for a sandwich when I encountered him.






Maybe you can tell, by Farm-finds, that I am in awe of farmers who nourish the earth, using the least harmful methods, those tough men and women who dig and seed and nourish the earth with their smart ways. And bottom line, I love to eat local food– like the luscious white peaches, heirloom tomatoes and plump blackberries, whose tastes that defy poetry. The closer I get to the source of the food, the more local, down to the dirt, the better it is. All thanks to the farmers whom I know.












I have been into the beauty of the cultivated land, not the hands-on, dirt-digging, chicken shit spreading, weed pulling gardening.  That is, until this spring, when my friend Rob, renowned for his heirloom tomato crops, recruited me to help in his garden. Rob’s book, Raising Kids and Tomatoes,  is full of wonderful anecdotes that made it all sound fun and delicious.  Plus I am a recent convert to tomatoes, owing to a tomato sandwich, made with a Cherokee Purple from his garden last year. 





Since he had back surgery, he needed someone to help plant and weed. I took the challenge and the chance to learn in depth about gardening, from the ground up. Was this a Tom Sawyer scheme?






Trying to support the overbearing tomato plant






Rob had a plot that he had heard about from our mutual friend Stephanie a few years ago–a space about the size of a pickleball court in the Druid Hill City Farm that he rents for $35 a year from the city in Druid Hill Park.  You won’t find a more dedicated, ethical group than these urban farmers.












One of 80 in the park, each plot has access to water, wood chips, pathways–and weeds.






A view of the community garden at Druid Hill






 I helped out with planting the seeds under a grow light and nurturing them to hardy plants to put into the soil, with a dollop of fertilizer and compost. The seeds of Heirloom Brandywine, Glacier and Cherokee Purple were dropped in holes.





May: tomatoes are growing furiously





By May, the plants were robust and healthy. To support the unwieldy growth, we placed the bushy plants in cages and staked the bold branches that were growing overburdened with little green globes. In exchange for my help, I got to plant flowers-- columbine, bells of Ireland, marigolds and beebalm along with the old standby--zinnia.





A week ago, the garden was looking good. Clusters of tomatoes had popped out, a smudge of pink on the curve, ready to redden with a bit more sun. Cucumbers, as big as baby baseball bats, lay in pleasant slumber growing under the vines. Basil was high as my thumb.





July: Weeds and groundhogs invade





 But like a bad omen on the flower front, my flowers were struggling in a mass of weeds to survive. Cosmos, which I thought, would almost grow automatically if you put the seeds in the ground, were overwhelmed. The last of the marigolds which sported big yellow pompoms like corsages on stems were nibbled to the ground. And only one columbine out of the 40 seeds planted survived. Not a great record, one out of 40. The tomatoes, however, were low hanging fruit, ready to pluck in a few days.





Upon return from a 4th of July vacation, I was craving that tomato sandwich. I thought the tomatoes would be ready.





OMG! the tomatoes that were hanging in those inviting clusters had disappeared. A few shards of tomatoes were at the bottom with bites taken out.












I was furious at who and what could have stolen these gems. How how could a critter have gotten to the top of the plant? Had a human being stolen them?





Vanishing plants





According to Rob, there is a powerful ethic at the gardens. The urban gardeners don’t take any fruit or vegetables from one another, not even a strawberry. Everyone appreciates the sweat and muscle ache of gardening to harvest. More likely, judging from the size of the bites and the numbers of bitten green tomatoes on the ground, a ground hog was on the loose, as was the case last year.





It is so discouraging! What is the point if we are just feeding the ground hog?





Word of the invasion soon spread that day, and fellow gardeners sprang into action. A burrow, probably home to a whole family of the critters, was located and a strategy was hatched to set a trap. True to their strong sense of ethics, someone would be checking the trap every day so the culprit could be freed in woods far away from our tomatoes and other inviting delicacies.  I wasn’t feeling so kind; I could have kicked it to the moon.  Striding through the plots and observing other bitten fruits, Julia, the director, in well-worn overalls, suggested other ideas; bright whirley gigs can scare them off, she said. Also she may bring in some used kitty litter to line along the borders; groundhogs don’t like its smell.












Did we mind the kitty litter? she asked. 





Not at all. Anything to stop the rampage.





All this action was encouraging but it didn’t bring back the tomatoes. 





Taking action to defeat the groundhog





Looking over the garden-jungle, I was so depressed. i sat on a weed-covered mound and stared at the jungular grass mass, tight as a rug, that had replaced the cosmos. Weeds were now up to my knees. They could cover the world! 





Are you discouraged?  I asked Rob.  He was glum, sitting on a stool pulling up weeds around the ravaged tomato plants.  In vengeance, I attacked the stubborn things with a hoe and piled them into the wheelbarrow. The sweat poured down my face, the dirt lodged under my nubbed down fingernails as I dug out the roots and shook out the soil and dropped weeds in the wheelbarrow to cart to the compost pile.












Within the hour, I sowed 25 Cosmos seeds in the bare square of soil. Hope springs eternal.





In that action, replanting, I built my hopes back up, that this time the seeds would survive and we would rescue the seedlings before they could succumb to any critters, drought or weeds. The marigolds were gone, cosmos mowed down, but — the zinnia were flourishing in such a undaunted display of bright pink, orange and yellow it renewed my spirit. 






The zinnia are flourishing






There were still some green tomatoes left to ripen. I collected enough basil for pesto, and four cucumbers, for a sandwich or cold soup.





Mayo, plus onion and thinly sliced cuke is good, but not as good as the tomato version!~





Three days later. . . I went out to the garden to cut some zinnias for a friend. The tomato plants, bending with the weight of green fruit, were towering over the trap, set up by a neighboring gardener. There was the culprit groundhog, round as a basketball, appearing to lick his mouth after his feast, in the cage.  He looked up at me, as if to say, thanks for all the great tomatoes. Around him, I assessed more damage:tomatoes with tiny bites taken out. He must have had a feast before the cage door shut.





I called Rob, who then notified Julia, who will make sure he finds a happy home away from the garden before the day is over.












It's  only a matter of a few days before those green gems ripen and I have my tomato sandwich; the Cherokee Purple, on textured white bread slathered with Duke's. 





Groundhog trapped, at least for a day





On my way out, I announce triumphantly to a toiling neighbor-gardener that we had caught the groundhog. In his plot, he was surveying cabbage which the groundhog had dined on earlier, maybe as an appetizer. I thought he’d be happier about the news. He’s experienced, persistent as the critters and the weeds, as you have to be in this business.





He said he had a garden in the Shenandoah Valley a few years ago. He trapped two groundhogs and took them five miles away to another place way up in the mountains in the woods.





“The next day both were back,” he said,  turning back to weeding.






Tomatoes ready to ripen–without the groundhog





























	

	


			
				
				


			

		
			Walking to the Wild Rabbit from Daylesford		
	

		

					
Daylesford: organic to the max
						

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Lady Carole Bamford has created an organic empire from Daylesford, her farm in the Cotswolds. I’d heard about it from my cousin Paula, who grew even more enthusiastic about going organic for her farm (next to ours in Virginia), after a visit to Daylesford. So eager for some inspiration, I headed to Daylesford on the second day of my trip to the Cotswolds.















I love how Lady Bamford, wife of multibillionaire Anthony Bamford, founder of the construction firm JCB, has embraced farming as the route to a healthy, prosperous life. The socialite travels the world by helicopter and jet. She’s officially a baronness, honored by the queen for her charity work–and yet she wants to be known as a farmer, according to published reports. She turned her family farm into a thriving organic enterprise 40 years ago. Now at age 76, she operates three popular upscale cafes in London; two well-reviewed pub-restaurants; a wellness spa; winery in southern France; distillery; clothing line; home goods; charities in India–and don’t forget the actual farm.





All organic and self-sustaining.





If it’s not directly from her organic farm, Daylesford sources from certified organic farms. These tomatoes, (at about  $15 for 2 pounds), come from Spain.





The real center of her enterprise is here at Daylesford which started as an organic farm shop in 2002. Forget the old images of battered, shrunken organic fruit; everything sold at Daylesford is organic, pricey, and chic, as beautifully produced as a perfect pear.





First impression: sleek and expensive





I am fascinated by her enterprise and how she has so successfully capitalized on organic farming.





My first impression is not of a farm, but a sleek glass and wood structure,  lined out front with topiaries and a big parking lot full of cars from the city.





Behind the topiaries, perfect organic fruits and vegetables are displayed in bins, as in the traditional farmers market. But that’s where the homespun comparison stops and yields to Bamford’s style and business sense that’s like an English Martha Stewart.





In the Home Goods department, an elegant lady was hanging felt Easter eggs on branches artfully arranged above the $200 tablecloths . “All from the property here,” she offered., referring to the branches. The English decorate these Easter trees with eggs, she added. The eggs are hand embroidered with carrots and bunnies, sustainably, in Nepal.















In Housewares, where they sell luscious smelling products like rosemary loo (toilet) cleaner, I met a couple from London. The woman was clutching purchases that included a bag full of organic, disposable aluminum foil, eco-rubber gloves and a tin of biscuits for her mother. Despite the high prices, she is happy to shop organic because it is pesticide free and not contributing to climate change, she says. “But I have to ask, why is it good food only for the people who have the money?”





A dust tray and brush for about $40 (32 pounds).  High quality and high expense is the rule at Daylesford





Her partner was a bit more skeptical. “I just came to see what all the fuss is about.” He paused. “Totally aspirational. . .What is this all about? I don’t know. They have a car park full of cars.”





I’ve noted the English are much more conscious of climate change than Americans.





Daylesford avoids packages in favor of filling recyclable or reusable containers with everything from Quinoa to herbs.





Tour of cheese, wine, everything organic





I had hoped to get a tour of the farm, but it is off limits to visitors. I also would have loved to meet “Lady B” as she is called by staff; she often comes to check on things, the manager, Risvon Fernandes, said, in front of the three restaurants featuring Daylesford produce. Fernandes tried to put it all in perspective for me: “This is a dream of Lad Bamford. She puts her stamp on everything,and it is all organic.”





We ambled through the beautifully displayed housewares to a nook with 14 different kinds of cheese made at Daylesford; the smell of moldering cheese almost knocked me out. That was next to a cubicle featuring organic wine made by hand at the Chateau Leoube, famed for its organic Rose. The winery was transformed into organic by the Bamfords.





Handmade cheeses







Squid salad from Cornwall





Wine from the French winery owned by Daylesford







Then there was the cookery school with multiple state of the art stoves and gear. The wellness spa is across the way. I checked out the airy stone and wood boutique which displays Bamford’s simple classic styles. She imports some fabric from Jaipur, a town in India where she has organized and supported Indian crafts such as indigo dying. The linen comes from various farms in England. I liked the plain white sweater but at $540, I opted to go on a walk to indulge in the good, local food at the local pub, the Wild Rabbit (also owned by Bamford).










The high-end products contrast with the dirty work of farming.  Yet  her philosophy about organic farming runs deep, from the roots of her surrounding 1500-acre estate to the sheets on the beds of her luxurious cottages that she rents out to tourists in search of the green countryside. Everything, her website states, is “designed to be mindful of its footprint and create an ethical, environmental and sustainable way, inspiring others to live consciously and well.”










Opposition to pesticides





According to an interview in the London Financial Times, which paid tribute to her business acumen, Bamford became an advocate for organic foods when she was a young mother outside with her baby. She noted the wilting roses in the garden. The wilted condition was traced to pesticides sprayed by nearby farms. “Better to pay the real price for food than later on in the doctor’s office,” noted Bamford, in response to the criticism of the high price of her products.





As self-sustaining as it claims to be, I found it hard to get public transportation out there from Broadway and had to hire a driver. Then I could not find a way to get to The Wild Rabbit, the Michelin recommended pub in nearby Kingham. 





A Walk to the Wild Rabbit pub





With map in hand, I headed across the parking lot, down the road to a path, that was as pristine as the Cotswold Way, through beautifully kept fields. Every field in this area appears groomed by landscapers, groomed naturally, by the sheep and cows.
















The kissing gate, which allows walkers in without letting out the sheep











On the 3-mile walk, I caught glimpses of the farm operations, neat and without any evidence of pesticides but I can’t really tell. The terrain was really muddy and flat, great for splashing through puddles at a relaxed pace, all by myself. Breathing in the beauty of the landscape.
























At the Wild Rabbit, with carved wooden rabbits placed as accents to the rustic decor, I ate lunch–a delicious bright green leek, potato soup, dense with the earthy leek flavor, and whole grain sour dough bread, cheese and butter, (made on the farm) accompanied by a half pint of Cheltenham gold beer.










The host told me they are working to get 3-stars for their ambitious menu. I missed a chance to try the tasting menu, set for later, Wednesday through Saturday, where they showcase delectable creations reflecting the day’s produce. He described a rabbit dish, with rabbit bacon, wrapped around lobster. Also intriguing is a salad of nasturtium root and parsnip crisps or braised pigs head, swede, mead and sage. You can also rent a cottage or rooms with rustic chic and luxurious amenities around the corner from the pub.





I’m content with the soup, and the cozy atmosphere of the pub, with its airy, light feel and leather chairs set in front of a fire.  I chatted with a well-heeled guest who came in to the pub to meet a friend. Lady B has bought more properties near The Fox, a former 18th century inn also owned by Bamford, in a neighboring village, she said.





“I wonder if she will keep the post office,” she mused.





Are the townspeople upset she is buying up everything? I asked.





Not really, because like many small villages struggling to survive in the depressed English economy, the town was in need of a boost, she said.





Reflections 





Lady B has the exquisite taste and the deep pockets that keep the enterprises going–fueled by a growing appetite for healthy food and land, amid concern for climate change. Her farm is one of the most successful organic farms in England, according to the Financial Times. I admire how she has built this market, glamorizing farming and the move to organic in a way that brings more profits for local farmers and better pesticide-free food for anyone willing to pay. She proves how successful organic can be.





Could such a model work in the States using farms as hubs for markets?