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People In Your Neighborhood
By Maria Reidelbach
Thin-skinned, glowing, red strawberries, freckled with a multitude of seeds; deep indigo blueberries, glazed with a frosty bloom; juicy, deep pink raspberries; sparkling, claret-colored wineberries; inky, fragrant elderberries; blackcurrants, black caps and blackberries with incredibly complex flavors—these are just a few of the fantastic variety of berries that grow in abundance in our corner of the world. Berries are among the favorite flavors of most of us humans—have you ever wondered why?
I’ve always taken berry-love for granted—why wouldn’t you adore a sweet, juicy, fragrant mouthful of joy? Now, Mark Schatzker’s book, The Dorito Effect, explains the surprising reasons we desire the food that we do and how our innate good taste can be simultaneously hijacked and left high and dry by processed food that promises gustatory bliss.
Turns out that scientists and nutritionists have pondered the question of food attraction for a long time, and marketers have, too. Animal studies are fascinating—goats, left on their own in a meadow with a great variety of plants, will choose their menu as carefully as the most discriminating gourmet, eating very specific amounts of particular plants in a certain order, and varying their menu depending on the season and their state of health. When analyzed for nutrition, it turns out that the goats’ diets meet the exact needs of their biology, and that even the order that the greens are eaten affects things like nutrient absorption rates. Further studies have discovered that the goats are guided by flavor, because in nature, flavors always signify specific nutrients.
Although everyone thinks that humans have lousy noses compared to other animals, that’s only partly true. Schatzker explains that humans have “a cavernous nasal cavity, with ten million smell receptors, like a sensory echo chamber.” A dog’s nose, for example, senses incoming air, but human noses sense incoming and outgoing air, plus aromas wafting up nasal cavities from our mouths. Additionally, a disproportionately large part of our brain tells us what we’re tasting and exactly how it makes us feel. This amazing system is much more accurate than the most advanced aroma-sensing equipment available, even better than chromatograms costing over $350,000. And, like other animals, all that sensory information is there to guide us in eating the most healthful diet.
Meanwhile, animal scientists striving to grow livestock as efficiently and cheaply as possible get cattle, chickens and other animals to eat corn, soybeans and other inappropriate feed by flavoring it to taste like the nutrients the animals naturally crave. They’ve developed all kinds of chemical additives to give the feed enticing flavors and variety. Commercial chicken feed is now so tasty that chickens will keep eating it even if they have the opportunity to go outdoors and peck around for their original favorite grubs, insects, seeds and grasses (so much for “free range”). They’ll eat it until they get so fat they can’t stand up. The added flavors, called “palatants” (because they make the feed palatable) are cheap because flavor chemists synthesize aromas and flavors from widely available chemicals extracted from unrelated plants and other sources. The animals will keep eating, and eating, and eating the phony food because their needs for missing nutrients are never sated.
Here’s where it gets really interesting. Turns out that food scientists have been using the same strategy on our food. It’s no secret that much of the processed food that fills the middle aisles of the supermarket is also made from corn and soybeans, either directly, or indirectly in the form of animals fed the same. Now, virtually all processed food contains human palatants—additional flavoring—usually listed among ingredients as “natural flavors.” (Since the 1980s, it’s been legal to call synthesized flavors, like chemicals extracted from pine trees to make fake vanilla, “natural,” as long as the chemicals don’t come from petrochemicals.)
So when our bodies and souls crave the myriad nutrients found in strawberries and we turn to strawberry Vitamin Water, we’re getting refined sugar, artificial color, “natural” flavors, and a small handful of vitamins, paltry compared with the numbers and balance of phytonutrients in real strawberries. We keep drinking it because it tastes so right. The same thing happens with Buffalo-chicken-wing-with-blue-cheese-flavored corn chips—our exquisitely sensitive taste receptors tell us we’re getting a big variety of foods—chicken, cheese, tomato bbq sauce, and celery with their attendant protein, vitamins, and micronutrients, because in nature, flavor always signifies nutrients, but what we’re being fed is corn starch, high fructose corn syrup and corn oil, with lots of salt, too.
Because food manufacturers have gotten so good at making substances that masquerade as real food, eons of evolution are subverted. Our big beautiful brains are no match for power of deceitful marketers and we keep eating and eating, just like the poor chicken who eats until she can’t stand up.
The good news is, we have a choice! We’ve got real berries here in the Hudson Valley, kick-ass berries that you can grow in your yard, can pick in the wild, or get from your local farmer. I like to use them to make delightful drinks that are ever-so-much more delicious than anything concocted by chemists.
Not long ago, I picked up a bottle of Hudson Valley Standard Strawberry-Rhubarb Shrub at Duo Pantry in Kingston. Shrub is an antique drink that’s been recently revived by creative foodies. It’s outrageously delicious—packed with flavor, sweet, tart, and colorful. Basically, it’s a concentrated syrup made of fruit, sugar, and vinegar. After tasting it, I remembered a shrub recipe in an old cookbook dozing on a back shelf. When I read the recipe years ago, I was curious, but since it was described as being a good drink “in case of emergencies” I passed it by. I made a black currant shrub and it knocked my socks off—this is a very sophisticated drink that is instinctively likeable at the same time. And it’s easy to make a rustic version of shrub from almost any fruit.
Make your own Rustic Fruit Shrub
Take 1 quart of ripe, juicy, fruit, put it into a large mason jar and smash it with the back of a spoon or whatever tool works. Pour 1 cup of vinegar over it and mix. Cap it loosely and put it in the fridge for at least a few days. Stir and smash some more, then strain through a fine metal strainer. Measure the juice and add the same amount of sweetener: sugar, honey or maple syrup. Stir until completely mixed and dissolved. Taste and adjust vinegar and sweetener.
Serve a couple of tablespoons mixed with water or seltzer ice, or use in mixed drinks. Experiment with vinegars (like the classic strawberry and balsamic pairing), add herbs or spices, or try shrubs made with vegetables like celery or beets.
Marianne Courville, co-founder of the Hudson Standard, shared a few tips with me. She said that her company began making shrubs because it’s great made with locally sourced ingredients—they make Concord grape, peach-lavender, apple-coriander-maple, and pear-honey-ginger shrubs, among others. Her only caution was to be aware that vinegar is a fermented liquid and when you introduce additional sugar it may kick off a wave of biological activity. The gas that is generated can explode a tightly capped bottle. So either keep your homemade shrub in the fridge or freezer, or boil it when finished to deactivate any fermentation. The Hudson Standard website has some great drink recipes and serving suggestions. If you’d like to try some of their shrubs, there’s a list of stores online, and they’re served at the People’s Cauldron on Main Street in Rosendale.
Maria Reidelbach is an author, artist and local food activist who lives, works and eats in Accord, NY. Mail to: maria@stick2local.com.
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Blood-veined sorrel
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by Maria Reidelbach
Okay, be honest: does locally grown food sometimes weird you out? Of course, these days, it’s accepted wisdom that local food can be more delicious, fresher, healthier, and better for the environment than processed food or fast food–but what about when you’re harvesting from your garden, shopping at a farmstand, foraging, or checking out your weekly CSA farm share and you see something supposedly edible and you just can’t figure it out?
Maybe it’s something familiar but off in some way—too big or too small, too juicy or too dry, too hard or too squishy, a shocking color, or having spots or bumps or holes where you’ve never seen them before. Maybe even a bug crawls out. Or perhaps it’s some completely new species you’ve never seen or eaten before.
It’s our animal nature to be suspicious of new foods—that’s what kept our ancestors from being poisoned. But that survival instinct gets in our way sometimes—like when we want to stretch our tastes and try something different. Even if we’ve tamed our inner food snob or are just ignoring it, we’re then faced with our ignorance. We’re familiar with supermarket food that is identically packaged with handy instructions, and with food that is cooked professionally and safely served on a plate, be it paper or china. Even the fresh produce from supermarkets is boringly standard—one kind of broccoli, all the same size, shape, color and condition—while locally grown food is a dizzying riot of varieties, sizes, colors, and qualities.
There’s definitely a lot to learn about the wonderful variety of locally grown produce, but I have gleaned some rules of thumb I’m happy to share. (Rather than the kitchen definition of vegetables, I’ll be using the botanist’s definition—tomatoes, squash, peppers, eggplants and other seed-bearing structures are fruit. Leaves, stalks, roots, flowers and other non-seed-bearing plant parts are considered vegetables).
Mostly, ripe fruit is relatively soft, wet, colorful and sweet. The reason is quite fascinating: fruit wants to be eaten, that’s how a plant spreads its seeds. Technically, fruit is tissue surrounding a seed. It has qualities that almost all animals are attracted to: high sugar content, aromatic, thirst-quenching, easy to chew and swallow. When the seed inside has matured and is ready to be eaten, fruit cleverly advertises by color and aroma. Animals eat the fruit and the seed within then later deposit the seed somewhere else in a nice pat of starter manure—it’s win-win!
Locally grown ripe fruit is going to be juicier and softer than what what you usually see in supermarkets, which bred for durability, not flavor, and is often as hard and dry as a cardboard box. The softer, juicier, smellier, more sensuous flavor and texture of fresh, ripe produce might seem strange at first—but like sex, once you get into it, it’s really fun.
Vegetables, by contrast, have no interest in getting munched. They are plant parts that exist to help a plant grow—roots and tubers collect water and nutrients from the soil and store resources (carrots, beets, potatoes), stems provide an armature for leaves (broccoli and asparagus), leaves absorb sun for photosynthesis (greens), and flowers attract insects to pollinate seeds (cauliflower, broccoli rabe).
When fresh, these parts are crisp, juicy, and sweet. Despite vegetables’ reticence to be eaten, we do naturally crave them—they are by far our main source of vitamins, minerals and phytonutrients. Most vegetables don’t ripen as fruit does, they just get bigger and more fibrous, starchy and/or tough, so smaller and younger veggies are often more tender and sweet.
To find the best locally grown food, I take the attitude of a curious detective. Take a close look at the specimen. Ask some questions. Does its strangeness look like inherent qualities of the fruit or vegetable—like carrots that look black on the outside but turn out to be vibrant purple with orange hearts? Is it a variety of pear that’s naturally bumpy? Ask your farmer, or look up the fruit or vegetable in a book or on the internet.
Do spots, bumps or holes seem the result of disease, insect damage, rot, or are they characteristic of the variety of produce? Sometimes locally grown apples can look pretty darn gnarly. There are fungi that can make rough, brown patches on the skin, and hail can scar immature fruit—but neither of these flaws affect taste or nutrition. However, a bruised apple is on its way to rotting. A few insect bites may not be a problem, but take a good look for live ones and reject infested produce.
Does the produce seem too hard, soft, wet or dry? Check and see how fibrous it is by snapping a bit off—green beans can get stringy if too mature, or limp if they’ve been off the vine too long, for example. Try a taste and see what you think. Fruit that is overripe will have a characteristic fermented flavor. Leafy greens may be limp, but if the cut ends look fresh, you can easily resuscitate the greens by soaking them for 10 minutes in very cold water.
In general, look for produce that is vibrantly colored, that is full of water and sugars, indicated by weight and/or crispness, and that is aromatic (especially fruit). Taste it when possible. Compare the produce with others of their type, and make a habit of scoping out all the produce you encounter—smell it, feel it, pick it up and see how heavy it is. Ask farmers, friends, and cooks for their opinions and advice.
It’s definitely a learning curve, but it is one that’s interesting and delicious. Plus, the knowledge will serve you well for the rest of your life.
Maria Reidelbach is a local food activist, author and artist living, working and eating in Accord, NY. (maria@stick2local.com)
by Maria Reidelbach
The mere existence of an herb like lovage gives me great hope and joy. Lovage is incredibly delicious, extremely versatile, grows better than a weed, and it's beautiful, too. And lovage is, these days, almost unknown.
Lovage is a gorgeous perennial plant that appears first thing in the spring and grows five feet tall or more. It looks a lot like gigantic parsley and has flavor notes of celery, both of which are kissing cousins. In summer it bursts with umbrella-shaped bunches of tiny chartreuse flowers which become pretty green seeds. It grows prolifically until November, getting so tall that it sometimes needs to be staked.
The flavor of lovage is both familiar and exotic; mingling with the aforementioned celery flavors are notes of pine and warm curry. In fact, in its chemical make-up, lovage shares some essential oil components with curry leaf, rosemary, cardamom, oregano and savory. (The English insist that it's got a hint of yeast, but then they would.)
How could such a great culinary ingredient escape fame? Even in its heyday, lovage seems to have been the wallflower at the ball. The Middle Ages were a great era for herb and spice lovers; seasonings were used with abandon on all foods, and lovage was a kitchen garden staple, but it was never among the favorites. This may be because lovage has a reputation for having an extremely potent flavor. I admit that my garden lovage, thriving from seedlings purchased out of curiosity, intimidated me for that very reason, at least until the year my parsley plants failed. Without a ready source of parsley I substituted lovage and fell in love—the leaves provided the fresh green note I sought and those mysterious spicy flavors gave familiar recipes a wonderful new aspect. In soups and stocks I began using the big green leaves instead of celery, and found it equally fantastic.
Emboldened, I've been making dishes where lovage takes center stage. I've made tabbouleh with lovage subbed for the parsley, and it was incredible. Pesto made with lovage instead of basil is great not only on pasta, but on potatoes, fish, white beans, stuffed under the skin of roast chicken, or mixed with cooked whole grains—even kids like it! (And of course, like all green herbs, lovage is a superfood—packed with phytonutrients!)
The great height of lovage is supported on strong, hollow stems, up to half an inch in diameter. Old books suggest that these stems are edible, but I've found them to be too fibrous to eat. Instead, they make fantastic straws through which to sip Bloody Marys or even lemonade. It's said that the root is an edible vegetable, but since lovage is a perennial and returns every year, and mine hasn't spread, I have not checked this out (if you have—do tell!). The seeds are sprightly and spicy; last winter we rolled bread dough in them and they created a yummy and crunchy crust.
Tuscans are fond of the pollen of fennel, another relative of lovage—this summer I'm going to collect lovage pollen and use it in a similar way—by sprinkling it on everything. Stay tuned. And you can always simply add finely shredded lovage leaves or flowers on mixed green salads for a taste twisteroo.
In the last couple of years, since my lovage consciousness has been raised, I've become aware of a faint but persistent lovage buzz. There are secret lovage lovers everywhere, so it seems. Queried at a dinner recently, every one of six guests chimed in with their devotion. Last summer, when I was giving a tasting at a farmers market, I subbed lovage for parsley in a recipe for Moroccan Carrots. I asked passers-by if they could guess the secret ingredient. Christoph Hitz, an illustrator living in Rosendale, took a nibble and replied, in a charming Swiss accent, “lovage!” My jaw dropped. Turns out that dried, powdered lovage was the main ingredient in a Swiss season salt called Maggi Chrut. Corinne Geib, a German native who works with many herbs to create her Immuneschein Elixirs and at her Immuneschein Tea Haus in Rosendale, told me that Maggi Chrut was once so popular that lovage became known as the Maggi herb.
The marvelous Corner Restaurant in the Tivoli Hotel offers a special of seared diver scallops sublimely finished with lovage shreds. Internationally, lovage pops up here and there among the cognoscenti—there's Lovage Restaurant in Seattle that's got a Lovage Asian Bowl, and Lovage Juice Kitchen in London at an Ace Hotel. Montana's Duluth Grill is big on the herb and offers both Lovage Lemonade and Sanguine Maria, a cold tomato soup with lovage and black olives (I'm there!). There's Lovage Bistro in Malta, the swanky Lovage catering company in San Francisco and Lavender and Lovage, an excellent cooking blog. Lettice and Lovage is a new off-off Broadway play starring Angela Landsberry. There's even a rock band named Lovage—this trip-hop group's only album, Music to Make Love to Your Old Lady By, has videos with subway trains and men in bunny costumes, but, alas, no lovage.
These recent phenomena are signs that we may be reaching a critical mass on lovage love. Soon lovage may have the popularity that has unfairly eluded it! And if there's a great herb like lovage that's been hiding in plain sight, what other delectable delights might there be to discover? The world is our herb garden!
Tabbouleh, made with Lovage
½ cup bulgur wheat
3 tbs. olive oil
2 cups finely chopped lovage
½ cup finely chopped fresh mint
2 medium tomatoes cut into small dice (also great with soaked dried tomatoes)
1 medium cucumber, halved, seeded, cut into small dice
3 tbs. lemon juice
salt and pepper to taste
In a heat-proof bowl, stir together the bulgur and 1 cup of boiling water. Cover tightly and let stand for 15 to 20 minutes, until tender. Drain and press the bulgur in a sieve, then toss it with the rest of the ingredients until well combined.
Maria Reidelbach is an artist, author and local food activist who lives, works and eats in Accord, NY. (maria@stick2local.com)
by Maria Reidelbach
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| Forsythia wall. |
A jarring experience that I’m sure many of my Hudson Valley neighbors share is roaming our two-lane roads and suddenly confronting a big, long wooden wall running right next to the road. It may be called a “fence”, but I think that a structure that’s eight feet tall and completely solid is more accurately called a wall. It’s no coincidence that these obstructions often block the view of a beautiful old house, and a view of bucolic landscape beyond that the house was positioned to capture. The houses are the ones that, generations ago, were sited efficiently near sleepy lanes that over the years became two-lane roads with cars and trucks barreling down 24/7. We gnash our teeth and peevishly say, “If they didn’t want to be close to the road they should have chosen a different house,” but really, who does want to be 50 feet from headlights, fumes and engine noise? And we hate to see our community’s lovely old houses sitting vacant and crumbling.
The big wooden walls that are becoming more common have both physical and psychological effects, as I discovered first hand. Several years ago, I cleared an area of my yard that had grown wild, and suddenly I had a view right into my friendly neighbor’s previously private patio, and they, into my backyard. Before long, they told me that they would be putting up a fence—the solid wooden kind. Given the situation I agreed that it would be best and I was actually happy he’d be doing it (and paying for it!). He even said he’d leave a little gap at the end so we could still pass between when visiting. Sweet and thoughtful, right? Even so, the day the fence went up, I was surprised that my feelings were just a little hurt. I could see why neighbors get their noses so out of joint when a less sensitive tact is taken and a wall goes up without warning or permission. Mike Warren, Town of Marbletown Supervisor, tells me that they have no local fence ordinances, and that there are inevitable conflicts. One resident, suddenly faced with a 12-foot tall fence on their property line, even mounted a camera on top pointed toward his neighbor’s yard!
Big solid fences feel like a door slamming, adding insult to the injury of losing the view. But what to do when you’ve fallen in love with a house that’s this close to a speedy two-lane? Before you build, you should know that there are highly effective ways to give privacy and to buffer the sight and sound of traffic that are more attractive to your neighbors and community, and to you, too—because a big ugly wall on the outside is even more ugly on the inside, considering that the common etiquette is to have the good side of the fence facing outward.
Architect Michael McDonough, who has a home in Stone Ridge, advises determining the “minimum necessity” first. Do you need complete privacy, or would a semi-solid view barrier do the trick? Is your place a seasonal home and used only in the summer? Is sound the main problem? Could a shorter fence work? Perhaps you only need to make your backyard completely private.
Victoria Coyne, proprietress of Victoria Gardens in Rosendale and an ace landscape designer, advocates an early consultation with someone like her. “Spending $100 can save you $10,000 and give you a creative solution with which you’ll be much happier in the long run. Having your fence contractor attend the meeting is also a great help.”
Victoria knows a number of strategies to create the serene environment you crave and that will actually enhance the landscape, “smarter, friendlier ways that don’t feel like a spite fence or create the atmosphere of a fortress. Walls destroy the wonderful sense of community that this area is known for—more open frontage is much warmer for all.” She suggests beginning with the lay of the land and built elements. One option is to sculpt the earth to create a naturalistic berm topped with plantings (an example of this can be seen on the rail trail along Route 209 in Hurley). An open fence can be filled in with perennial plants, like climbing hydrangea. Thick hedges can muffle noise and provide a solid screen, and look great with older and historic homes. To Victoria, a fence is much more attractive when it complements the style of the house it surrounds, and could even look like an extension of the architecture of the house. If you’ve got to have a tall fence, make it dip down at the entrance to make it more welcoming and gracious. Break a sheer wall up into staggered panels, which is visually dynamic and also helpful if a solid wall would interrupt a deer path, turtle migration trek, or other wildlife right-of-way.
Mark Brown, a master carpenter living in Kingston who’s built miles of fences, says “you can tell a much more interesting story by adding curves, decorative detail, rustic uneveness, and a beautiful or unusual color to a solid fence.”
Mike Warren helpfully points out that it’s best to build a wall at least three feet from the property line, to enable maintenance to the outside of the fence; he cautions that you need to be sure that when you plant small hedges or shrubbery they won’t grow up and obstruct road and driveway views necessary for safety. Michael McDonough suggests elaborating plain wall fences by setting them further back and adding a layer of trees or shrubbery and perhaps an additional short open fence next to the road. Jennifer Schwartz Berky, an Ulster County Legislator with a background in architecture, strongly advocates building with wood. “As long as it’s not pressure-treated, wood is an excellent, renewable resource that is beautiful and durable. Plastic and vinyl are made of petroleum by-products, and create pollution in both their manufacture and breakdown.”
If you’re in a pinch, you could even grow a beautiful one-season fence by thickly planting sunflowers with tall ornamental grasses filling in later in the season. Or if you’re stuck with a plain wood wall, you could add beautiful painted supergraphics or patterns, which would give you the opportunity to work with a local artist. When you think a little about it, there are all kinds of alternatives. Even Benjamin Franklin offers a bit of wisdom that has stood the test of time: “Love thy neighbor, yet don’t pull down your hedge.”
Maria Reidelbach is an artist, author and local food activist living and eating in Accord, NY. (maria@stick2local.com)
by Maria Reidelbach
I recently struck it rich—and I’ve been basking in happy endorphins ever since. Last winter I was walking with my neighbor Brit Baker and he pointed out a stream as we passed. I looked down over the bank and nearly dropped to my knees—my eyes beheld a creek chock full of fresh, beautiful watercress covering the surface of the water for at least 150 feet! I was down in a flash and munching on the crunchy, peppy greens in sheer delight. In December!
I love watercress, but the cress you see in the stores is often a sad sight—it’s so tender and crushes so easily that traveling is hard on it. The kind that grows in our local creeks is actually the very same variety as cultivated—it’s a garden escapee—but it’s much fresher and crisper, and has more flavor and nutrients because it grows outdoors, robust from exposure to the elements.
After I found my crispy cache, I got a bit obsessed with this one-of-a-kind aquatic green. I discovered that, miraculously, we found the bounty on St. Barbara’s Day—the patron saint of watercress! December 4 is the day that St. Barbara was beheaded by her own father (don’t stress, even the Catholic Church admits she probably wasn’t real). Watercress comes under Barbara’s protection because in cold climates it is one of the last tender green plants; the water protects it from freezing. Before fresh greens could be preserved or imported, watercress must have been treasured in the winter months. And lo, I was delightedly eating watercress and sharing it with friends until the temperatures dipped into the single digits and it finally froze. When the weather warmed up a little the thicket grew right back—so enthusiastic! I’ve found that watercress is lush until the dog days of summer, when it gets a bit stringy if it’s in the sun.
Watercress has been enjoyed since ancient times; its botanical name, Nasturtium officinale, means “twisted nose,” no doubt a reference to its peppery heat. It shares this lively quality with its cruciferous cousins—mustard, arugula, horseradish, and wasabi (but it’s not related to the spicy flower named nasturtium). Early written references emphasize the medicinal use of watercress: Hippocrates is said to have sited his first hospital next to a watercress creek; Romans and Anglo-Saxons ate it to avert baldness and as an aphrodisiac (a good combo!); Medieval Europeans ate it as a remedy for the “greensickness of maidens” (whatever that is); and the Irish sages, those protectors of civilization during the dark ages, enjoyed it as an especially “pure food.” In South China, where it’s always served cooked, it’s eaten as a cleansing tonic.
The old traditions were right on, watercress is brimming with phytonutrients. One serving (about 2 cups) has 53 percent of our daily vitamin C, 42 percent of vitamin A, and 8 percent of calcium. Watercress also has substantial amounts of vitamins K and E, potassium, manganese, and lots of other minerals. Recent studies are showing that it may have significant cancer-fighting qualities by reducing DNA damage, too. No wonder it’s been seen as a tonic—it’s a bonafide superfood!
Nutrition aside, watercress has always been enjoyed for its stellar culinary qualities, being one of the oldest green vegetables, and one of the favorites of Zeus himself. In Victorian England, watercress was so popular it was sold on the street in bunches that were eaten like ice cream cones. Watercress is juicy, crunchy, spicy, sweet, and green all at once—a felicitous contrast with richer foods like eggs, roasted meat, salmon, and cheese. Watercress makes a fantastic salad, its pungent flavor is scrumptious with simple oil and vinegar dressings, as well as those made with garlic, sesame oil or seeds, chives, crème fraîche, sour cream, or lemon. Additions like walnuts, cubed beets, hard boiled eggs, tofu, or cooked shrimp can create a more substantial salad; serve with fresh wholegrain bread for a great light meal.
Watercress is not uncommon in our area, but it grows only in clear, slow-moving creeks and can be hard to find. Spring-fed streams are ideal habitats. Because it grows in water that is home to other critters, you need to be especially careful about where you collect watercress. The water must be clean and not near any dirty runoff from roads or inhabited sites. Make sure that there are no sheep or cattle upland—they can spread a parasite called liver fluke. To be extra safe, unless I’m cooking it, I always rinse my cress in an antibiotic solution—I fill the salad spinner with water and add either a cup of vinegar or five drops of chlorine bleach, clean and briefly soak the cress, then refill with plain water and rinse again. You might find a cute little snail or two. Don’t get too excited while harvesting—last February I carefully donned my wellies before heading to the stream. Reaching out for an especially tasty bunch I slid right in, and was up to my hips in freezing water before I knew it! You don’t need to worry about over-harvesting a rare plant, since watercress in the wild is the same variety as cultivated, but don’t wipe out your spot, and break off a few rooty bits and let them travel downstream to begin another to begin another bed, and share the wealth.
Creamy Watercress Soup (adapted from the Stick to Local Farms Cookbook)
Yield: 6 servings
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| Photo by Maria Reidelbach. |
Ingredients:
• 2 quarts of water, light chicken, or vegetable broth
• 2 to 3 potatoes, peeled and sliced 1/2-inch thick
• 2 spring onions, both white bulb and green leaves, coarsely chopped (optional)
• 1 pound fresh watercress, cleaned
• 5 tablespoons unsalted butter
• 1 teaspoon salt, pepper to taste
Method:
• In a large pot, add salt to the liquid and bring to a boil. Add the potatoes and onions and cook over medium-high heat for 20 minutes or until tender.
• Add the watercress; stir and cook five more minutes. Do not overcook or the watercress will turn dull.
• Dip a cup or so of broth and set aside. To puree, if using a blender, transfer the solids to a food processor or blender with a slotted spoon, saving the broth. If you’ve got a stick blender, just blend what’s in the pot.
• Blend until very smooth, then add the butter 1 tablespoon at a time. Put the purée back in the pot, if needed, and add the reserved broth a bit at a time until you reach a consistency you like. Reheat gently, salt and pepper to taste. Serve hot. Croutons are nice.
Variation: keep a large handful of the watercress out of the cookpot and blend it in raw.
Maria Reidelbach is an author, artist and local food activist, living, working and eating in Accord, NY. maria@stick2local.com.
by Maria Reidelbach
This spring, I am surprised and happy to celebrate the 5th anniversary of the Yardavore—60 columns about eating food that grows at home, both cultivated and foraged. I’ve always loved to eat, but over the last few decades choosing the food we consume has become so complicated. Every few months there’s some new study that proclaims the virtues of some ingredient, chemical, restrictive diet or technique, inevitably followed by new studies telling us that the same things will cause a slow, painful death. We all remember when calories from fat were the enemy—now butter is back, baby!
Then there’s all the blowback of what we eat—the environmental and economic effects of our choices. Who would have thought that the popularity of quinoa would make it too expensive for the Bolivians who grow it and for whom it’s a staple food?
I began writing the Yardavore because I had fallen in love with locally grown food, farmers markets, hunting wild mushrooms and other delicious plants. Since then, I’ve learned so much more about gardening and farming, foraging, personal health of both body and soul, and community health, too. Five years ago I was transitioning fro
We are lucky to share the planet with some great minds that have illuminated the way.
David Korten is a visionary economist—what a contradiction in terms!—whose book Agenda for a New Economy I reviewed in one of my first articles for Country Wisdom News. This mind-blowing tome includes a discussion of what I call the monetization of everything: childcare, advice-giving, food preparation, music-making, entertainment, and so much more. So many of these things we once provided for ourselves and each other we now job out. We have even been convinced by relentless advertising that if we don’t pay for something, it’s actually worth less, and indeed, the more we pay, the more valuable the product is! Movies and books are routinely rated by how much money they make. The result is an attitude that the quality of our life is equal to the amount of money we have and spend. Examining myself and media laid bare how pervasive and unconscious these attitudes are, and how they actually impoverish us.
Meanwhile, the great food writer Michael Pollan has been writing his ass off about the history of what humans eat and what we eat now, culminating in the instructive books In Defense of Food and Food Rules. The Rules are fantastic and easy to remember guides that make eating delicious, healthy food simple. I love this slim, clever paperback! Pollan advocates a common sense diet of eating whole, unprocessed food. His mantra is: “Eat food. Mostly plants. Not too much.” Simple! Easy to remember. He drills down: “Avoid food products that contain ingredients that no ordinary human being would keep in the pantry.” “If it came from a plant, eat it, if it was made in a plant, don’t.” “Eat animals that have themselves eaten well.” “Spend as much time enjoying the meal as it took to make it.” These dictums are so basic that they weather the changing winds of diet fads.
Another game-changer has been the discovery of the complex of microbes that make up more than 50 percent of the cells we think of as our bodies. The health of these communities, collectively called our microbiome, is essential to our health. And guess what—these miniscule guys like whole, unprocessed food, too. The microbiomes of folks who eat mostly processed food have much less diversity and resilience. Jeff D. Leach and others at the American Gut Project are a good portal to all the news.
Jo Robinson has written extensively about how wild foods have much more nutrition than their cultivated cousins. Her book Eating on the Wild Side is a compilation of how to choose and store the best varieties of cultivated fruit and vegetables. I’ve learned from Robinson that green herbs are powerhouses of nutrition—they’re the vitamins of the plant world, and I now use them with abandon on everything I eat.
These readings, and more, have inspired big changes in what I eat. Our appetites are instinctive reactions to food—some foods inspire craving and others trigger disgust. Today, mixtures of chemicals that would repulse anyone are processed and engineered into “foods” that are specifically designed to addict us to their perfect blends of fat, sugar and starch; food scientists call it the “bliss point.” Once you start eating these foods (think cheese doodles), it’s nearly impossible to stop.
Conversely, I’ve noticed that when I taste an edible wild mushroom for the first time, I’m pretty timid—mushrooms are mighty weird looking and humans have a strong innate aversion to eating new foods—it protects us from random poisoning. But once I experience the savoriness, the disgust changes to attraction and my instincts are rewired. Similarly, my appetites have been recalibrated to be attracted to seasonal, locally grown food—I’ve noticed that food grown far away in different climes has ceased to catch my eye.
Heavily processed foods always come with a glitzy advertising campaign to convince us to eat them—brilliant and creative visuals, hooky music, and catch phrases. Whole and wild foods rarely do—and this is where Korten’s concept of monetization comes in. When I’m out walking and find a fruiting of delicious mushrooms, or when picking berries or gathering herbs from my backyard garden, I feel rich. It’s not a value that’s reflected or encouraged in our consumer culture. But the intrinsic rewards of eating this food—yum!—prove that our elemental instincts can still be revived and, if we pay attention, can guide us to a diet that’s simple and very delicious. It is amazing how much gourmet wild food surrounds us, free for the taking.
We are so fortunate to have many in our own community who have dedicated themselves to supporting, sharing, learning, and teaching about local whole foods. Dina Falconi has written one of the very best books about eating wild plants; Foraging and Feasting is both a guide and a great cookbook. We’ve got wonderful local farmers who are generous members of our culinary community. Don Lewis at Wild Hive Farm in Clinton Corners has been at the forefront of reintroducing small grain agriculture to our area. Ken Greene and Doug Muller run the Hudson Valley Seed Library, providing a diversity of local seed to this area of the country. Linda Brook Guenther is creating new ways to teach kids about agriculture. Chris Kelder, at the 200-year-old Kelder’s Farm in Kerhonkson, has created a U-Pick with over 50 varieties of fruit and vegetables. Creek Iverson organically grows beautiful produce and creates wonderful, musical community at the same time. Jill Weissman leads the Mid-Hudson Mycological Association, a group that shares their knowledge and love of mushroom hunting with all. Zena Nason, Lisa Jones, and Holly Shelowitz are each chefs with a cause, sourcing food locally and cooking it healthfully. These are just a few of the many people that we are blessed to count as our neighbors and friends. Thank you! And while I’m at it, a big thanks to Marie Doyon, the editor of this paper, who has been a joy to work with. To be continued!
Maria Reidelbach is an author, artist and local food activist who lives, works and eats in Accord, NY. Feedback and suggestions: maria@stick2local.com.
by Maria Reidelbach
Walking into a house that smells of baking bread may be one of the most welcoming experiences ever. Inhaling the fragrance of a yeasty, browning loaf feels like a motherly hug. It’s an aroma so potent it’s been known to sell homes to jaded shoppers and induce hungry lovers to pop the question. Talk about aromatherapy!
I’ve been making my own bread for several years now, and I never tire of that great smell. I began baking when I decided to switch from white bread to whole wheat, which is much better for a body in so many ways: it is metabolized more slowly, eliminating glucose spiking and keeping energy even; it has more protein, vitamins, micronutrients, and lots of fiber. So many virtues!
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One of Ethan Plank's legendary loaves. Photo by Maria
Reidelbach.
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But finding delicious whole wheat bread was a different story. A trip down the supermarket aisle was disappointing. The “whole wheat” breads were anything but—most had just a little whole wheat flour and they were marshmallowy industrial loaves with loads of chemicals. Bread in the deli section was a bit better, but those that were high in whole wheat seemed as dry and scratchy as floor sweepings. Plus, they cost up to $5 a loaf. I wondered if I could do better myself.
In my college days I had lived on heavy, homemade hippie bre
ad, just awful in retrospect. However, I had heard that there was a “new” way to make great bread at home and it sounded promising. Jim Lahey, from the Sullivan Street Bakery in New York City, had developed a recipe based on ancient practices. His basic loaf has just four ingredients: flour, yeast, salt and water. And although it takes up to a day from start to finish, there is very little work time involved—no kneading!—and no fancy tools or appliances, other than a bowl, napkin, covered pot and oven. From the very first try, I was making beautiful, 75 percent whole wheat loaves, crusty on the outside, marvelously chewy in the inside, and aromatic as heaven.
How can just a few basic ingredients make such a complex, sublime foodstuff? The science and art of bread baking are truly amazing. Wheat is unique among grains in having a high percentage of the protein gluten, a complex of molecules. When flour is mixed with water the molecules unfold into stretchy strings that bond to each other, giving bread dough its characteristic stretchy, bouncy quality.
Flour mixed with water is also an ideal habitat for yeast, a living organism that creates the bubbles that make bread light. Yeast cells apparently float around everywhere just looking for some bread dough to eat—set out a jar of flour and water and in a couple of days it will be happily bubbling and aromatic from millions of yeasty beasties feeding and farting.
Starch, another element of wheat, finishes the process. Starch cells absorb water, swell, and, when baked, solidify foamy dough. Baking also creates two dramatically different taste experiences—the chewy, moist interior of the loaf, and the crunchy, flavorful, dark brown exterior—a miraculous combination.
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Ethan Plank bakes legendary loaves in his home oven that he
contributes to the annual Stone Ridge Library Fair, on the last
Saturday of April. Photo by Maria Reidelbach.
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Although the basic ingredient list is short, and the process of mixing, rising, and baking is simple, bread making has infinite variations and subtleties. There are endless recipes and discussion threads online about the nuances of form, function, and finesse. These can result in some sublime loaves, but my goal is to bake good healthy bread that doesn’t take too much time, attention, or money. To this end, I reached out to some local mavens for their secrets.
Ethan Plank is a home bread-baker whose golden loaves, sold at the annual Stone Ridge Library Fair, have gained him legendary status. He uses Lahey’s long-fermentation method and loves enhancing his bread with additions—a favorite is to grind multi-grain cereal, like Bob’s Red Mill, in a coffee or spice grinder to add in small amounts to the dough or sprinkle on top before baking. He taught me to thump the bottom of the loaf to listen for a hollow sound that signals doneness, and also shared that if you’ve undercooked a loaf and it’s gummy inside you can always slice and toast it. Essell Hoenshell-Watson, the Alternative Baker of Rosendale, saves a pinch of dough from each batch for the next, which encourages a delicious diversity of yeast.
Don Lewis, of Wild Hive Farm in Clinton Corners, is local bread’s best friend. Don has national stature as a pioneer grower and miller of many grains, including a bunch of rare varieties of wheat. His flour is stone-ground and fresh, bursting with flavor and nutrition. Don recommends a scale to weigh ingredients, since flour fluffiness makes it sketchy to measure by volume. I switched to Wild Hive flour a year ago— it’s awesome. Even though it’s more expensive than King Arthur flour (my backup), the cost is still only about two bucks a loaf! Wild Hive products are about to become regionally available for retail purchase—request them at your local grocer or co-op, and until then, mail order.
Accord has a community wood-fired oven. If you’re interested in baking in this traditional way, send an email to accordoven@stick2local.com.
No-Knead Whole Grain Bread (adapted and simplified from My Bread, by Jim Lahey) Yield: 2 loaves
• 4 1/2 cups or 600 grams whole wheat flour
• 1 1/2 cups or 200 grams white bread flour
• 1 Tbsp. kosher salt
• 1/2 Tsp. yeast
• 2 2/3 cup or 600 grams of water
• additional flour for dusting
In a medium bowl mix together the dry ingredients, then mix in water. Cover bowl and let sit at room temperature for 12 to 18 hours until bubbly and more than double in size. Cut the stretchy dough in half and turn one loaf out onto a counter dusted generously with flour. Flour your hands and lift the edges of the dough up and inward until you have a nice round shape. Take a cloth napkin, sprinkle it generously with flour, place your loaf on it and fold napkin edges over to cover it. Repeat with the second loaf and leave to rise at room temperature for an hour or two.
Preheat your oven to 475 degrees and put two covered 4 1/2 to 5 1/2 quart pots (ceramic, iron, metal, terracotta, or any oven-safe material) on a lower shelf position. When the dough has doubled in size, remove the pots from the oven. Pick each loaf up with your hand under the cloth, gently invert into each pot. Cover and bake for 30 minutes. Remove the lids and continue baking until the crust is a deep brown, another 15 to 30 minutes. Remove the loaves from the pots and let cool completely before slicing—this may be the hardest part!
Maria Reidelbach is an author and artist who lives, works and breaks bread in Accord, NY.
by Maria Reidelbach
By now, you may have heard the shocking scientific findings that 90 percent of the cells that we think of as our body, are actually, ick, germs! Trillions of microbes live on our skin, in our mouths and throughout our bodies, especially in our digestive tract. Cumulatively our “microbiome” weighs between two and six pounds.
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| A friendly microbe. |
These microbes are not dangerous, in fact, it turns out we can’t be healthy without them. Scientists are even beginning to think of them as another organ. These tiny critters help us in many ways: metabolizing food into vitamins, training and tuning our immune system to protect against allergies and asthma, regulating our metabolism, and repelling harmful bacteria. This begins even in the womb, thought to be sterile until recently. Babies receive an additional anointment of helpful bacteria as they slide down mom’s birth canal, and vaginal birth babies tend to be healthier than those born by C-sections. Kids who are regularly exposed to farm animals and their dung, with resident bacteria, seldom have allergies or eczema. A change in gut biota can have an astounding effect on health, for example, bacteria transplanted from one body to another can cause the fat to become lean and vice versa, and a bacterial transplant is the only known cure for a common, but deadly infection caused by Clostridium difficile.
There are hundreds of studies in the works—understanding the microbiome promises to be one of the most important breakthroughs in biology ever. Scientists now know that we each have a unique microbiome, and that our bacterial populations vary based on our diets, our location, even time of day. Those who live in the same house (including pets) have a greater proportion of shared biota. Forensic scientists are discovering that we all leave behind traces of biota that are more unique than fingerprints (which, despite their historic use as evidence, are actually not). Even cadavers have been studied, and forensic scientists can now determine time of death with much greater accuracy, based on how the microbiome evolves after the host dies.
What’s also getting pretty clear is that there’s a big connection between what goes on in our belly and what goes on in our brain. How it all happens is pretty complicated, but fascinating. As the microbes metabolize nutrients, they secrete a huge number of chemicals, among them are the same substances that regulate mood. The best known neurotransmitters are dopamine and serotonin, substances that are used in antidepressants, pain-killing and recreational drugs. These and others travel via the vagal nerve network that connects the gut to the brain and also circulate in our blood. Biota in the gut also train immune cells that travel to the brain.
Scientists are seeing how all this molecular activity has a direct effect on our mental state and moods, particularly anxiety, depression, and even autism. Even though biologists are notorious for an unwillingness to concede that animals have emotions, they use mice to study them. When mice exhibiting anxiety- and depression-like behaviors are given a biota transplant, they become spunkier and more curious. Autistic mice who receive transplants of specific types of biota have responded markedly. There are many human studies are in the works, the few that have been completed are very promising. One landmark study in the journal Gastroenterology showed significant differences in anxiety levels between groups who ate yogurt with live bacteria twice a day for a couple of weeks, and those who ate pasteurized yogurt.
Because the mental effects of a healthy microbiome observed so far are very positive—inducing calm, happiness, and sociability—some scientists even go so far as to suggest that the biota evolved encourage this because through human interaction is the way they find new hosts!
Of course, even though all of this science is in its infancy, there are multitudes of supplement companies that are marketing probiotics claiming to cure almost anything. It’s important to know that probiotics are not regulated at all, so there is no way to know that you’re getting what’s on the label, let alone whether it will actually work if it is.
However, the good news is it’s surprisingly easy to cultivate your inner garden—yet another reason that it’s great to be a yardavore! First, be lazy! Ditch all those antimicrobial products and don’t be such a clean freak. Eat plenty of delicious cultured foods like traditional lacto-fermented pickles, sauerkraut, and yogurt (make sure they all have live bacteria). Eat whole foods and avoid processed foods. Studies show that a typical American diet with refined sugar, fat, and starches is like poison to a healthy microbiome. Avoid taking antibiotics whenever possible. Get outdoors, play in the dirt, regularly visit farms with livestock—even family dogs are shown to bring a huge diversity of bacteria. Sounds like a great life to me!
More info: humanfoodproject.com (you can participate in a study and get your own microbiome sequenced)
The Real Deal Sauerkraut (adapted from the Stick to Local Farms Cookbook)
1 large, firm, green or red cabbage, about 5 pounds
3 tbsp sea salt or 1 1/2 oz kosher salt (not iodized)
1 tsp caraway seeds (optional)
Shred the cabbage after removing the core. Put into a bowl and work the salt into the cabbage with your fingers until juicy. Pack into a non-reactive container, like a glass jar or ceramic crock. Add juice; if there’s not enough to cover the cabbage, top it up with a brine made from 1 cup filtered water and 1 tablespoon of sea salt.
Place a weight, like a small plate, over the floating cabbage shreds to keep them submerged (important—you want the brine to provide an anaerobic seal). Cover loosely with a clean dish towel and ferment at room temperature. Skim any floating bubbles or other matter. After about a week, begin to taste the sauerkraut every day until it’s to your liking. Remove the weight, cover the jar and refrigerate. Your kraut will smell weird before it smells tasty, this is part of the procession of fermentation. Occasionally the kraut will turn permanently slimy or smelly. It’s not dangerous, but it’s been colonized by the wrong bacteria; just throw it out and start over. The sauerkraut will keep in the refrigerator for up to 6 weeks.
Maria Reidelbach is an author, artist and local food activist living, working and eating in Accord, NY.
by Maria Reidelbach
It’s one of my earliest memories—trudging among evergreens, the forest quieted by a thick layer of snow, gradually turning from white to blue in the twilight. Little arms and legs stiff, from the cold or layers of clothing, I couldn’t tell. I was out with my family to get a Christmas tree, just a few days before the holiday, and the world seemed full of magic.
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A view of Bell's Christmas Trees in Accord. Photo by Dave
Curtin Photography.
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I still love Christmas trees; I think it might be something in my genes. The custom of bringing winter greenery indoors is older than time, dating way back before the advent of Christianity. It seems that when the days are too short and the world too cold, folks have always gotten the heebie-jeebies. The ancients lived surrounded by nature, and in the winter their eyes must have ached for the greenery of the warmer months. Plants that stayed verdant throughout the winter were thought to have special properties—and they do! Botanists say that evergreen needles are actually leaves that are rolled up very tightly and coated with a waxy substance to seal moisture in. This allows them to photosynthesize most of the year, which is especially helpful in cold northern climates.
Ancient Egyptians, Romans, Celts, and Vikings all marked the winter solstice with evergreens. Ironically, Christians in colonial America forbade any celebration of Christmas other than church services, sometimes by law (this was before the separation of church and state). Even into the 19th century mainstream Christians perceived the trees that German immigrants decorated to be a dangerous heathen ritual. In 1846, Queen Victoria, who in her day was a world style-setter on the order of the Kardashians, and whose husband Prince Albert was German, brought a Christmas tree into the palace. When an illustration of the tree and family was published in the London Times the custom went viral both in England and the United States.
In the 21st century, we’ve banished winter cold and dark, and perhaps as a consequence, our innate craving for evergreen has become confused—artificial trees are common, and there have been fads for white trees, silver trees, and other novelties. For a while there was controversy over whether it was better for the environment to have an artificial tree or cut a real tree down, but most conservationists are now solidly supporting natural trees. They point out that almost all artificial trees are made in China out of polyvinyl chloride, which contains toxins; using polluting, coal-generated electricity; delivered half-way around the world in diesel-powered ships; used for an average of five years; and then, because they are not recyclable, discarded into a landfill.
On the other hand, natural trees are a renewable, recyclable resource. They grow in soil not ideal for food crops, and they don’t need irrigation. All the years a tree is growing it’s cleaning the air; purifying groundwater; stabilizing the soil; providing homes for wildlife and sometimes, to the consternation of tree farmers, dinners for deer. Steve Lobotsky of Wonderland Farm in Rhinebeck said that Fraser firs are popular with people and with deer—he has many “lollypop” Frasers—the bottom six feet of trunk are stripped of branches, but there’s a beautiful tree above that.
Live trees are better for people too. Tree farms support the local economy—they employ lots of workers out in the fresh air, seasonally and year-round. And there are even scientific studies that show that having live greenery indoors is good for our health. Dr. Birgitta Gatersleben, an environmental psychologist at the University of Surrey, says that there’s “plenty of evidence” that real Christmas trees reduce stress, increase well being and satisfaction with life. And they smell so wonderfully woodsy—close your eyes and you are transported to a snowy glen.
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A view of Bell's Christmas Trees in Accord. Photo by Dave
Curtin Photography.
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There are lots of ways to reuse a real tree after the holidays. The whole tree, stand and all, can be moved outside and decorated with bird feeders. The needles, branches, or chipped wood from trees can be used as mulch and planting bed protection. Cut the trunk in slices to use for plant stands. Cut them thin and push them into soil vertically to edge garden borders, or sand varnish them to use for trivets and coasters—the possibilities are endless.
If you’re lucky enough to have trees on your land, or have friends who do, you can forage a fresh tree. Spruces, firs, pines, and cedars all grow wild in the Hudson Valley and are easily cut with a bow saw. Because they haven’t been cosseted like cultivated trees are, a wild tree might be lopsided or so open you can see the whole trunk. I like this type of tree because they have character, you can see all of the ornaments at once—and they have fewer needles to clean up, but I realize the Charlie Brown look isn’t for everyone. You can grow your own full, well-shaped tree if you have six to ten years to prune and tend it. Or you can visit one of our area’s picturesque Christmas tree farms and support our agriculture community.
An outing to a local tree farm is a great holiday activity to share with loved ones, be they family or friends. Most farms not only help you cut your own tree if you like, but they also offer more seasonal fun—a barn with a warm wood stove, hot chocolate, evergreen wreaths and ropes, locally made gifts, and great natural or concocted photo ops for that festive holiday selfie. Bell’s Christmas Trees in Accord will have Mitten Trees decorated with colorful mittens, scarves, and hats donated by the community and later passed on to families in need. Hardenberg Farm in Ulster Park has a popular 1945 Ford pickup truck named Hardy that people travel to pose in. All have beautiful plantings of trees to stroll among—it’s fun to bring winter picnic.
Christmas tree farming is a tricky business—it takes years to grow a tree and farms have but one month to sell it. If the holiday weather is inclement, it severely impacts their business. I’ve asked some of these committed farmers what keeps them going and every one of them echoed what I heard from Gordie Bell, “We love to create a fun experience for folks, and I feel even better knowing that growing trees is great for the environment.” That kind of love and enthusiasm—that’s what I call the holiday spirit.
Locally grown trees (check websites for details):
Abel’s Trees (Verbank): abelstrees.com, 845-677-6395
Barthel’s Farm, Ellenville (fresh cut), 846-647-6941
Battenfeld’s Christmas Tree Farm (Red Hook): christmastreefarm.us, 845-758-8018 (also amazing anemone greenhouses)
Bell’s Christmas Trees (Accord): bellschristmastrees.com, 845-626-7849 (Mitten Tree clothing drive 11/27 to 12/18)
Bilmar Nurseries (Pleasant Valley): bilmarnurseriesinc.com, 845-635-3206
Evergreen Christmas Tree Farm (Millbrook): christmastreefarm.biz, 845-677-3785
Hardenburgh Farm (Ulster Park): hardenburghfarm.com, 845-658-8894 (Hardy the vintage pickup)
Primrose Hill Farm (Staatsburg): primrosehillfarm.com, 845-889-4725
Solvang Tree Farm (Poughkeepsie): solvangfarm.com, 845-473-0224
Wonderland Farm (Rhinebeck): wonderlandfarm.com, 845-876-6760
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