Peter Davies and Mark Scherzer are the owners of Turkana Farms in Germantown, NY. This week Mark writes:
A couple of weeks ago, I described arriving at young adulthood in a state of profound alienation from the natural world. How did I find my way to the realization (or is it a delusion?) that raising vegetables and animals is not merely worthwhile, but also deeply fulfilling? It would be simple to write a single sentence summing up the entire process: “Peter taught me.” After thirty-one years as a member of a tight dyad (to use Kurt Vonnegut’s term), it would perhaps be surprising if I had not absorbed something of my partner’s most compelling interests. The credit (or maybe the blame) is his, and you could say I am simply following in Peter’s muddy footsteps.
That’s the truth, but truth is never that simple. I was no Paul on the road to Damascus. I had no single epiphany that transformed me overnight into Peter’s disciple. It was more an evolution from resistance, to reluctance, to just going along, and then, to a large degree unconsciously, to total embrace.
My resistance to the rural life when I first met Peter was evident in my complete lack of interest in joining him in the country. We met in New York City in the fall of 1978, were living together most of the time by the next spring, yet when the following summer Peter left for his old Berkshire haunts, I joined him for only one weekend the entire season. For me, the “wildlife” of sultry summer nights in the City was far more enticing than a free place to stay in the bucolic Berkshires.
Peter had no problem convincing me, as our relationship progressed, to join him in subsequent summers in Sag Harbor, on Long Island’s East End, but, to my mind, that was the beach with farm-stand amenities, not the country. And when we bought and began to restore a house there—The Ephraim Niles Byram House, an 1852 Italianate Cottage in the irregular style—and Peter established the picturesque gardens (shown here) he saw as the proper context of the house, I became a most reluctant collaborator.
Thanks to Peter’s research on Andrew Jackson Downing, whose pattern books had inspired the house’s design, I recognized that historical authenticity required a particular type of garden setting for the house (top photo). I appreciated the beauty of the outdoor environments Peter created. But I’d have to admit that, at first, I took both his work and the resources he devoted to the garden entirely for granted. And being something of a puritan (Peter would say Philistine), when I did begin to recognize how much was involved, I was horrified. I am sometimes reminded of one of the many Saturday mornings we journeyed to the local nurseries and Peter, as always, began loading up a cart with perennials. “Do you really need that?” I asked, each time he added another plant to the cart, until I pushed his patience too far and was banished to the car, like a sulking teenager, while he completed his shopping.
And yet, and yet, slowly a sense of what constitutes a garden crept into my psyche. Not just the final product but the process, the work of getting it there. House and garden tours are a staple of East End entertainment, and after spending enough time touring, I was able to discern which of the gardens had been purchased at the nursery and installed the week before the tour, which ones were formula gardens contracted for with landscaping professionals (exterior decorators, I’d call them), and which were the products of a creative vision and constant shaping over time by an individual gardener. As with any endeavor, appreciation of the craft can sometimes be the route to appreciating the object, and I began to seek out real gardens to observe the infinite variety of horticultural creativity.
Equally important was helping Peter with the garden work. Something about the digging and planting and weeding, I discovered, gave me a sense of tranquility. Being a lawyer is all about sitting in a chair and engaging in highly intellectual contention. Garden work offered a contrasting combination of physical activity and a sense of brain-rest. I call it my Zen time. With my only external stimuli being the rays of the sun, the breeze, and the feel and smell of the earth, my mind could meander, undirected, or simply blank out altogether. No matter how mentally or emotionally exhausted I might be, no matter how much sleep deprivation I’d suffered, I could get down on my knees and weed by hand for several hours and emerge from the process restored.
Applying my emerging gardening skills to a vegetable garden satisfied yet another need – to feel that what I produced was tangible and of real value. As pleased as I might be when achieving a legal victory or writing a fine brief, I have always felt a certain sense of unease about my occupation. I have tried to work for the “right side”, but most disputed legal fights involve moral ambiguities. Some clients, while legally and even morally entitled to what I fight to get for them, are people whose values and goals I would prefer not to have advanced. The production of a carrot or a cabbage involves no such ambiguity; eating is a universally esteemed good. And I, a particularly avid appreciator of food, could happily work full time growing vegetables.
By the time we left Sag Harbor our days there were almost fully occupied caring for our intensively cultivated little acre. Morning to dark, March through November, we virtually lived out of doors, generally ate outside, followed each meal with a walk around part of the property to observe and plan projects. We were also engaged community activists, but even that activity seemed to involve a steady stream of comrades in arms dropping by to meet in our garden. In the winter months, when garden work was impossible, we frequently hiked for miles in the Long Pond Greenbelt, a string of kettle ponds running from the ocean to the Peconic Bay.. And thus, the urban nihilist had been transformed into someone who did not feel right unless many hours each weekend were spent outdoors.
Does this history fully explain my embrace of farming? Obviously not. In this entire account you’ve heard not a word about animals, yet caring for livestock is now our main farm endeavor. Arriving in Columbia County, I had still never laid hands on, let alone spent time with, a chicken, cow, sheep or pig. In fact, I would have been queasy about touching any of them. The evolution from avid gardener to someone who cares for livestock is its own separate process, carrying its own rewards. I’ll write about that transition next time. —Mark Scherzer
Cultural correspondent Bess J. M. Hochstein reports from Pittsfield: The stars aligned for photographer Bill Wright about six weeks ago, when he approached Megan Whilden, Director of Pittsfield’s Office of Cultural Development, about mounting an exhibition of portraits of local military veterans in the city’s Lichtenstein Center for the Arts. A previously scheduled show failed to materialize, and Wright’s proposal fit right in with Pittsfield’s Big Read community bookreading project, which is focused on Tim O’Brien’s Vietnam War novel, The Things They Carried. So the gallery made an exception to its group-show orientation and helped put out the call to local men and women who have served in all branches of the military to participate in Wright’s Berkshire Veterans Photography Project. Twenty-one of Wright’s powerful, larger-than-life portraits hung on the gallery walls as subjects and their families gathered for the show’s opening on Friday, March 12. Among the guests was Wright’s oldest subject, Margaret Haggerty, who served in the Army during World War II; she turns 100 this month. Wright, who served in the Air Force during the Gulf War, continues to work on his Berkshire Veterans Photography Project, which he hopes to turn into a book. He asks that local veterans contact him for a free portrait sitting: brkvets@gmail.com.
Hudson Valley Restaurant Week is a misnomer, because it lasts for two weeks: March 15 - 28. All of the participating restaurants are offering $20 three-course lunches and $28 three-course dinners (excluding tax, tip and beverages) and some have Friday and/or Saturday night exclusions. Nevertheless, the restaurant week is an opportunity to sample the bounty of the Hudson Valley, which has been at the forefront of the farm-to-table movement. The synergy between the Culinary Institute of America in Hyde Park and fertile farms of Dutchess and Columbia counties has made the Hudson Valley a locavore’s paradise. It’s a good excuse to re-visit some of RI’s favorite spots such as the Artist’s Palate in Poughkeepsie, the Blue Plate in Chatham, La Puerta Azul in Salt Point, No. 9 in Millerton, Red Devon in Bangall, Stissing House in Pine Plains, and Terrapin in Rhinebeck. It’s also the encouragement we need to check out places we’ve been meaning to try such as Charlotte’s in Millbrook and the Greens at the Copake Country Club (photo above) on Copake Lake.
Moist, sweet and laced with tart cranberries, this healthy cake staved off my winter blues by perfuming the house with its spices. It’s a relative of pumpkin bread, but with the locavore edge —local butternut squash, eggs, butter, apple and regional cranberries—all widely available during the cold months. (I even threw in some local whole wheat flour from my grain CSA.) This rustic dessert is perfect for a buffet brunch, after school snack, or book group treat with a pot of tea. And don’t be put off by having to roast the squash, see the “Tips on Butternut” below.
1 2 pound (or more) butternut squash
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The poet Marianne Moore in a photograph by Esther Bubley
That’s right, free food on a Wednesday night. But not just any Wednesday. In the spirit of Erin Go Bragh!, Dream Away Lodge is laying on a free corned beef, cabbage, and potato feast to celebrate St. Patrick’s Day. Lest you fear that Erin Go Broke, consider the beer and whiskey—suited to the occasion quaffs such as Killians Irish Red on tap, Guinness Surge, Black and Tans, Jameson and Baileys— required to wash all that down and to sip later, while listening to the evening’s entertainers, Billy Keane and the Misdemeanor Outlaws. For libations, money changes hands. And since Dream Away does not take plastic, and there are no ATMs within miles of this mountaintop road house, remember to take cash.
Peter Davies and Mark Scherzer are the owners of Turkana Farms in Germantown, NY. This week Peter writes:
I have noticed that my ducks splashing around their little pond do actually look “ducky.” There is something about the line of their beaks, which gives them a perpetual smile. This together with their placid, easy going, seemingly self-satisfied nature creates the essence of “duckiness.” And so I come to realize why calling something that is pleasant and nice “ducky” makes sense, and why referring to a special someone as “my duck” is a form of affection. As for “sitting duck,” I first realized the metaphorical sense of the term several years ago after a flying predator carried off a duck two nights in a row. I, thereupon, moved my “sitting ducks” in at night to safety.
Just before Thanksgiving, when our turkeys graduate to the mating stage and the toms are parading about, flamboyantly displaying, gobbling loudly, viciously pecking at each other, and, in general, milling about in chaos, I know they are just being turkeys. As in “Oh, you turkey!”
The Red Lion Inn is hosting two special dinners later this month that are likely to sell out. On March 19, a ten-course vegetarian feast, each course accompanied by a different suitable wine; then on March 22, the annual collaboration of regional chefs heralding spring and showcasing the first harvest of the 2010 season—maple syrup—to raise funds for Berkshire Grown, an organization that supports local farms and farmers.
Celebrated Berkshire chefs, all members of Berkshire Grown, a non-profit organization created to promote locally grown food and the farmers, chefs and consumers who love it, celebrate the first harvest of the growing season each year with a maple-inspired dinner. Some of last year’s chefs (shown at right in the Red Lion Inn kitchen) will be returning, others are new to the event. They include Kate Baldwin (Kate Baldwin Catering), Chris Bonnivier (Gala Restaurant and Bar), John Dudek (Bascom Lodge), Dan Smith (John Andrew), Daire Rooney (Brix Wine Bar), Peter Platt (Old Inn on the Green) and host chef Brian Alberg (The Red Lion Inn). The March Maple Dinner begins with hors d’oeuvres and cocktails featuring locally produced beverages from the Barrington Brewery and Berkshire Mountain Distillers followed by a five-course dinner beginning at 7 pm. The Red Lion Inn is offering a special room rate for guests attending the dinner.
We have a sentimental attachment to the annual IS 183 costume ball: It was the first event we covered “live” for Rural Intelligence so we think of it as our anniversary party, too. While this year’s dance party on March 6 has a theme—Radioactive Bodega—that is somewhat puzzling, it is also a challenge that should make it just a visually stunning and amusing as Rock the Opera in 2008 (left) and the Hair Ball in 2009. If you like to dress up in a more conventionally glamorous way, the Berkshire International Film Festival is having a “Red Carpet” Academy Awards party at the Beacon Cinema on Sunday March 7. With the Beacon’s high definition screens, you’ll be able to analyze every borrowed diamond necklace and beaded dress in a way that you can’t at home, and you’ll have a crowd to gossip with over drinks and dinner all evening long.
Peter Davies and Mark Scherzer are the owners of Turkana Farms in Germantown, NY. This week Mark writes:
From an early age, I did come in contact with a rural environment of sorts, but I think you could fairly say it was something I had touched but not been touched by. We spent summers at Warman’s Bungalow Colony, owned and operated by my grandfather and his brothers and sister, in Swan Lake, NY—the Catskills. It had once been a dairy farm, but its former agricultural features had all been transformed to new uses: the barn to the “casino,” site of circuit-riding borscht belt entertainments, bingo games, and itinerant dress sales; the annexed utility rooms to my Tante Jenny’s grocery store and apartment; the chicken coop to the laundromat. And the pastures were populated by bungalows (“kuch aleyn”, or “cook on your own” in Yiddish). The one open area, at the far end of the property, was the baseball field. 
The only time, indeed, that I can remember venturing on foot into the “country” was to accompany my grandmother to a large scrubby field across the road full of high bush blueberries. I have vivid memories of the heat, the crescendos of katy-dids. and the scratches to our arms and legs as we filled large enamel cooking pots with the berries. Our discomforts were forgotten when we sat down to one of our favorite summer suppers, blueberries and sour cream.
Most of us are so used to frozen or defrosted shrimp that “seasonal shrimp” sounds as oxymoronic as jumbo shrimp. But they do exist. I recently found these Maine babies at the supermarket and at Rubiner’s in Great Barrington, where they should be available for another month or so. You can use them whole and unpeeled for a shrimp boil. However, with their softer texture and slightly sweet flavor, these winter gifts lend themselves beautifully to light and subtle dumplings.