Farmer's Gathering

This past Sunday Corrie and I were invited, along with Marc and Linda, to a party and pig-roast at Windfall Farms, in upstate New York, in the near vicinity of where our car and trailer nearly died on the drive to Joshua's (we had to leave it for a few nights at a truck-stop bar).

We are acquainted with Windfall Farms through working the markets for Ronnybrook Dairy, and were told to come and enjoy the sights and food, and stay for the burlesque-style show put on by a trio of farmhands supplied musically by a trio of musicians (one dude played a mean accordion).

We got there pretty early, maybe earlier than most party people thought necessary, but they didn't mind, and after we volunteered to help (we were eventually turned down--they had it pretty much under control), they showed us around the grounds. They have thirteen acres on one side of the street, and I think about 130 acres on the other side. We walked around the smaller plot and looked at ground-cherries (goose-berries) and the like, and explored on our own across the street. I finally retrieved my camera after we were basically done across the street, but I noticed Corrie, Marc, and Linda talking to Morris, the owner of the farm, and heading back across the street to the larger lot.

I caught up with them, armed with my camera this time, and got the scoop; the weather-people were saying there was a good chance for a frost that evening, which would destroy what was left of the raspberries, turning the prickly bushes into sherbet-berry collections. They'd been sent to fill up on the remaining raspberries. There were plenty. I'm not a big fan myself--the flavor I enjoy, but the seeds get all up in my teeth, and I found the best way to deal with them is to avoid.

We got back to the farmhouse and party-grounds when I realized that my camera case had fallen out of my pocket, and went back across the street to the raspberries to retrace my steps and find it. Along the way I met up with some of the farm-folks I recognize from Saturdays and Wednesdays who were out to show some other people the beaver dam and apartment complex. I didn't want to miss a beaver-dam and hut, so I joined (after locating my case).

Apparently the muddy road in view would run for miles back into the trees to the site of year's past bonfires, but with the beavers coming in and damming up a small creek, and creating a nice pond in the process, the road necessitates a four-wheel-drive vehicle to navigate. Behind the dam one can spot a dead tree...it may be hard to tell from theses pictures, but the beavers have it almost all the way chewed through. Their hut is in the middle of the pond.

The last picture is directly accessible from the walk, and highlights their craftsmanship. There were too many people, and it was too bright, otherwise I was told that we'd be able to hear their warning tail-slap call--a thundering slap, warning intruders to stay away.

The food was good, the pig was succulent, the melodrama/burlesque show was funny and entertaining, but not too racy (there were little-ones all over)...overall it was good time. Marc let me drive there, and I appreciated the chance, and he drove home while I strained to hear the AM station playing the end of the Yankees/Twins game.