Farm Season

"When most people think of Massachusetts, they really just think of Boston," Sweet Potato said today, and I was definitely one of those people. I had no idea that a big chunk of the state was covered in farmland. In 2002, there were more than 518,000 acres of farm land here, and that showed decline. I knew the pilgrims planted crops; I just didn't know someone kept tending them.

Out here, conversations about corn on the cob-- which roadside farm stand has the best ears and how much they cost-- run neck and neck with discussions about the cost of oil and the abundance of rain.

The farms aren't just for food now, though. They're a huge source of entertainment for the people of the woods: Pick-your-own berries, pumpkins, apples-- depending on the season-- bog tours, tractor rides, hay rides, corn mazes, Christmas trees, wine tasting, walking trails, gift shops, bakeries, and food contests. One farm even boasts a state-of-the-art milking parlor. It makes me giggle to think of the jersey cows sipping tea cross-legged in the parlor, waiting a turn to give milk.

On a whim we decided to go to our nearby apple-picking farm today. Sweet Potato was really hoping the trees would have Pink Ladies (secretly, I was too) but I think they're grown in Australia. We picked McIntoshes.

I love the names of apples and once included a list of them in a poem I wrote: Braeburn, Pippin, Golden Delicious, Cortland, Jonagold, Crab (so yummy soaked in cinnamon!) . Too bad it was a lousy poem, but maybe I can part it out one day.

Back to the farm: We were too cheap to pay 30 bucks for the corn maze and goat petting, but Buckaroo had a good time riding around in the wagon. Sweet Potato and I enjoyed our caramel apples very much, while R gobbled his warm apple pie. Not as good as my mom's (QW), he said-- always a gentleman.

Buckaroo enjoyed sampling apples straight from the tree.

Afterward we ordered take-out from the Thai restaurant down the road. My idea of the perfect day.