Welcome to Our 2014 Season!
Holding and sharing wholeness--that is now the focus at White Rose Farm. The farm now radiates wholeness in the form of beauty, bounty and balance. That experience is available to those who visit--and to those who are touched by the farm's produce and products.
Theologian Thomas Berry asserted that, "The human-earth relationship is the primary experience of the Divine. We are touched by what we touch, we are shaped by what we shape, we are enhanced by what we enhance.The sense of the sacred is at the heart of it all."
In our modern world, there are so few places that nurture the human-Earth relationship. At White Rose Farm, we invite people into the gardens to touch, shape and enhance the natural world.
The outer world of nature and the inner world of humans go together, Berry said. As we connect with the world around us, we promote wholeness in ourselves and in our world. We restore our commons--common air, common water, common-unity.
Posted by Sally Voris :: Tuesday, August 26 :: 5:44pm
“Will you still have your produce special in September?” one friend asks. “Will you have pumpkins in October?” another man asks. “Are the sweets (sweet potatoes) ready yet?” two volunteers from past years ask. They have enjoyed the fruit of the relationship that this farmer has had with this land.
Another friend has said that in the end—close to death—all we have are our relationships with those we loved and those who love us. I frame a larger picture: we have, individually and collectively, our relationship with the land that has supported us and with spirit that has sustained us. Those relationships are created by living fully in the moment, just as deep friendships are.
Sometimes we eat food so delicious that time stops and the world inside us opens. Tomatoes, really good tomatoes, are like a rich kiss. Especially in August, their prime season, they are tasty, juicy and sweet. Two weeks ago, a friend brought me dark Russian rye bread. I made her my favorite tomato sandwich. I cut thick slices of “Goldie,” a low-acid, sandwich tomato and thin slices of dark rye bread. I slathered the bread with mayonnaise, added the tomato, French sorrel, good sweet Lebanon baloney and a shake of black pepper. Our eyes rolled; we nearly swooned! The sandwich was that good!
This year, I have pears, so many pears, bushels of pears. When they are perfectly ripe, they are mildly flavored, utterly smooth and dripping with juice—a sensuous delight. The trees I planted years ago are loaded! Last week, I noticed bees and hornets feasting on ripe Bartlett pears. I wanted to feast too!
Pears are best picked when the top of the pear is barely soft. They are ripe one day; rotten the next. I harvested buckets of pears! I canned some in syrup, then found a recipe for Pear and Tomato Chutney. It called for pears, tomatoes, onions and green peppers. I had them all. I added golden raisins, white vinegar, salt, ginger and dry mustard. The mix stewed for an hour. It had a marriage of flavors and textures I had never experienced before! After I filled the canning jars, I had extra. I threw canned kidney beans into the pot and ate the stew for late dinner. It was about the best thing I had ever tasted!
The next day, an old friend brought a friend who was visiting him from Florida. I invited them in for a taste of this stew. “Pears. Tomatoes. Onions. Green peppers,” his friend identified. “It's really good. ” Then he began sharing stories about the struggle of the Seminole Indians to keep their language. I listened intently. My heart went out to him. I will carry the memory of that meeting with me.
I sit close to another memory this morning. A friend of a close friend is dying. She is surrounded by family who loves her. She visited the farm maybe five times over the last ten years. Once she came with her sister who was visiting from New York. We feasted on summer fare--especially a tomato salad with Sun Gold tomatoes and basil that was so luscious that I still remember how she spoke of it. She and her sister told stories of the summer cottage where they had played—and of their father who was an exceptionally warm man and a story teller. We had a meal and an evening together.
An evening, a meal, a bowl of chutney. I am learning to connect with the present moment, with the person in front of me. I read a quote from Emerson yesterday, “ Our life is an apprenticeship to the truth that around every circle another can be drawn; that there is no end in nature, but every end is a beginning; that there is always another dawn risen on the mid noon, and under every deep a lower deep opens.”
Chill settled on the land last night. Summer is ending; prime tomato season is over for the year. A new season is beginning.