Just thinking about this dish makes me happy as a puppy under an occupied high chair.
The Oxford Farmers Market is definitely the place to find the freshest veggies, fruit, baked goods, crafts and flowers. Everything we sell is either homemade or homegrown by our vendors, which means you know exactly where your item comes from. Market hours are every Saturday and Wednesday from 7 a.m. until noon.
My folks are in San Diego this week. They’re visiting Mom’s sister Tootie. My family lived there in the '70s when my Coast Guard father (now retired) was stationed at the tiny downtown airbase.
I wasn’t crazy about living there. Although to be perfectly honest, I was in junior high at the time, and it’s the nature of the adolescent beast to ooze ennui regardless of circumstance.
But for vacations, San Diego is practically perfect.
I knew her 12 of her 16 years. She had golden hair, sparkling eyes and an enthusiasm for life that brought joy to those who knew her. Once I sat beside her in church. She was maybe four or five, petite, dressed to the nines. She was coloring the front of the Sunday bulletin, trying to stay within the lines. Not succeeding, she removed an eraser from her tiny, girlish purse. Coloring outside the lines just wouldn’t do. She was the kind of girl who liked things tidy.
This week’s refreshing rains and warm temperatures have propagated a valiant veggie feast here at the Oxford Farmers Market. Since everything we sell is either homegrown or homemade by our vendors, you know exactly where your items come from. Market hours are every Saturday and Wednesday from 7 a.m. until noon.
I’ve been getting a lot of questions lately about what can be planted in pastures and hay fields that will grow and provide grazing and forage during the summer months. Our forage base in this part of the piedmont is fescue, which is a cool season grass that does not grow during hot weather. Because of this, we refer to the “summer slump” when talking about growing forages. The slump refers to the period of the summer when fescue and orchardgrass are dormant and trying to survive the hot temperatures.
A jillion years ago, back when fire was considered magic, I worked as a bartender at a country club in Raleigh. And if I wasn’t at my post in the bar, there was only one place where I could be found.
It would be easy in this country to convince yourself that agriculture doesn’t matter very much. We all live within five or ten minutes of a grocery store that stocks almost any food you could want, any day of the year. We can get it bagged, boxed, fresh or frozen.
I’ve done the math (sort of). In 30-some years, I’ve made (and eaten) approximately 1,000 batches of potato salad. When I see it in black and white like this it’s a little staggering. But I tell myself it’s OK because I haven’t eaten it all in one sitting. But what this computation really comes down to is that I have an abundance of experience. I have made, along with that enormous quantity, enough missteps and boo-boos to qualify me as a bona fide expert.