Cherries, Walnuts and a Different Breed of Cat

10:45 pm on Friday night. Twenty-five pounds of cherries in the fridge, awaiting their final fate -- jam, pie filling, or simply canned in a light syrup, ready for whatever inspiration might strike. In whatever form, we will be able to enjoy them some cold, foggy day in the not-too-distant future. I called the cherry farmer yesterday, and picked them up from him after work last night. Not quite as ripe as last year, but still very nice. Gave him a jar of strawberry jam, and was asked, for the second time in a week, if I make it to sell. I don't of course, but it is an intriguing thought... Of course, there are rules, and regulations, and requirements... Have encouraged the cherry farmer to participate in our local farmers market; he may, when his apples come in. We plan to stay in touch -- so I can buy some very fresh, locally grown apples to put up, and he can decide if the farmers market will make sense for him.

Fifteen pounds of unshelled walnuts in the freezer. That was an unscheduled event -- took a different route and saw a sign in front of a farmhouse. Walnut harvest was months ago, but I stopped anyway. Maybe driven by a weakness for buying things directly from the farmers who raise them, maybe because buying that directly (and in quantity) often leads to deals one would never find anywhere else, maybe just because knowing where and from whom things come adds another dimension to the enjoyment of things "at table". In any case, I stopped to inquire.

Knocked on the door, rang the bell, knocked again. Could hear a tv loud & clear, so knew someone must be about. A tiny little old lady finally answered, shouting through the door, "Who is it?". I inquired about the walnuts. She opened the door, and ran through the shelled, per-pound prices ($5 per pound for halves, $4.50 for quarters, $4 for pieces). Having just come from the cherry farmer, and having left a good part of my grocery money with him, I hesitated. Whereupon she offered me nuts in the shell, at 45 cents a pound. I didn't know what the yield would be, but even with all the waste in the shell, it seemed to me it still had to be a whole lot cheaper than the shelled nuts. And DH has been asking me to get some nuts for awhile, so I figured I might be able to sweet talk him into helping shell them. So the little lady & I bagged up twenty pounds, for which I paid all of $9.00, and I went on my way.

(As it turns out, you get about half a pound of nuts for every pound in the shell. I know this because I started with 5# unshelled, and ended up with about 2-1/2# of nut meats, which are now vacuum packed in quart mason jars in my pantry. So I'll end up with 10 pounds of walnut meats, for which I paid $9.00. Excellent deal, and I don't think it'll take me as long as I was afraid it would to shell them. In fact, I found it almost meditative...)

It may be the latest culinary trend, but buying directly from farmers, on the same plot of land where the food was raised, is not a new experience for me. When I was a little girl, my mother would find someone who had pomegranates, for example, and pack the three of us kids into the car. We would help pick them, and later, wearing old clothes, would help her prepare them for a batch of jelly. I remember carefully picking blackberries from their prickly vines, as well as raking up nuts as my father knocked them down with a long pole. The pecans were my favorite -- once I ate so many of them, it was years before I could even look at them again.

So now, forty years later, I am again cultivating relationships with the folks who grow things. That is, after all, part of the beauty of living in an area where a lot of food is grown. I am gradually learning about the different varieties of the various fruits, vegetables and nuts that we enjoy, and their harvest times, and how they are affected by various growing conditions.

And I am learning about the folks who make their living so directly from the land. They are an interesting breed, and there is a kernel of jealousy in me -- these are people whose lives are, quite literally, rooted in the land, usually possessed of a pragmatism that extends from the earth through their interactions with the folks who buy what they raise. Some of them farm because it's their heritage. Others are drawn to it, whether by temperament or default. But either way, I think it gets into their blood, and the hours, days, months, and on into the endless flow of the seasons, spent alone with the land (well, maybe with a dog or two), whether on a tractor or with an implement in hand, leave a permanent mark on the soul. Or maybe it's a soul already so marked who is drawn to working with the land. (I'm speaking here of the small-plot folks, although you sometimes find these guys running big operations, too.) In either case, these folks who make their living off the land are a different breed, and one I'm enjoying getting to know.