I love farmers’ markets—the fresh produce and the baked goods as well as the meat and the dairy, almost always hormone free. I love strolling from stand to stand, talking with the vendors, who are often the farmers who grew or produced what is being sold. I love buying a box of raspberries here, some garlic sausage there, and whoopie pies at yet another table. I have noticed that other customers seem to enjoy doing these things, too, and there is a relaxed feeling at farmers’ markets that just isn’t found in most grocery stores.

In Winthrop, we have a small but nifty farmers’ market, and my goal during this season is to write a profile of each vendor. Last week, I chatted with Marinna Smith, of Snafu Acres in Monmouth, Maine. Marinna is 15, and she tends the stand at the Winthrop Farmers’ Market while her father, R. Ivan Smith, goes to the Wayne Farmers’ Market, the next town over. Nancy Smith, Marinna’s mother, does the marketing for the farm.

Marinna is bright, articulate, and very much able to handle the business that comes her way at the Farmers’ Market. She told me how Snafu Acres is a five-generation farm that specializes in eggs, poultry, beef, and pork. (Snafu Acres also used to be a dairy farm, but her father felt it was too much work milking the cows.) All the animals are raised on grains that are hormone and antibiotic free. Marinna also told me that her father is a full-time farmer who nevertheless finds time to help his brothers with their haying.

“My father comes from a big family,” Marinna said. “He’s one of 7 kids—6 boys and 1 girl.”

“What about you?” I asked. “Are you interested in farming?”

Marinna answered that although she enjoys coming to the Farmers’ Market, she probably wouldn’t be involved with the physical labor of running the farm. She likes to write, and she finds the market a good place to get material. “I see people walking by, and I get a good idea of their traits.”

“What do you plan to study in college?” I asked, even though at 15, Marinna still has a few years left in high school.

Her answer surprised me. “Biomedical Engineering.”

Truly, a well-rounded young woman.

“Is there anything else you’d like to add about the farm?” I asked.

“The farm teaches you not to procrastinate,” she replied. “When the eggs need to be washed, they need to be washed.”

Anything else?

She grinned. “The Snafu in our farm’s name is the acronym of what you’d expect.”

Of course it is.

Thanking Marinna for taking the time to talk to me, I bought a pound of breakfast sausage, and that evening my husband, Clif, and I had a Maine feast. We fried the sausage, and we boiled some new potatoes and green beans from Farmer Kev. Even the butter—Kate’s Butter—came from Maine. We took this simple but oh-so-good meal out to the patio, and we stayed there until it got dark, listening to the night noises and enjoying the damp feeling of dew as it settled around us. Clif light the citronella torches, which did a fine job of keeping the mosquitoes at bay. In the flickering light, the animals—the dog, the orange cat, and the black and white cat—settled around us as Clif and I toasted Maine and its summer bounty.

In Winthrop, we have a small but very nice Farmers’ Market that is held on Saturday from 9 a.m. to 1 p.m. in the parking lot of the Winthrop Town Office. Vegetables, eggs, dairy, meat, and baked goods are sold there, and unless my husband, Clif, and I are very busy, it’s a rare Saturday when we don’t stop at the Farmers’ Market to buy something. Often, we go on our bikes as part of our daily ten-mile ride. For us, the location is perfect as we can swing by on our way home, which is about a mile from the Farmers’ Market. Clif and I have good-size bike bags, where we can pack plenty of stuff, ranging from raspberries to garlic sausage. Then home we pedal.

One of my goals this summer is to write a short profile of all the vendors at the Winthrop Farmers’ Market—unless of course they don’t want to be featured on the blog. (I expect most of the vendors will be happy to have the publicity.)

I decided to start with Wholesome Holmstead, where I get the wonderful garlic sausage that goes so well with my homemade sweet and sour sauce. Tomorrow, I plan to make the sausage and sauce dish, and instead of adding spinach, I’ll use a sweet red pepper I have on hand and some of Farmer Kev’s sugar snap peas. But I digress.

On Saturday at the Farmers’ Market, I spoke with Karen Trenholm, one of the owners of Wholesome Holmstead, which is on 432 Stanley Road in Winthrop. In 1947, her family bought the farm, and Karen grew up there.

“This weekend, there will be four generations helping on the farm,” Karen told me.

She then went on to explain how Wholesome Holmstead is a diversified small farm, with meat, dairy, seasonal vegetables, flowers, and herbs. “And we’re making it work,” Karen added. “We’re thankful for those supporting local farms. It can be done. There is diverse farming in the state.”

“When things we eat can be grown in Maine, we should buy locally,” I added, and naturally Karen agreed with me. We also noted that this did not mean we wanted to give up using olive oil, lemons, and various spices, only that a real effort should be made to get produce and products from Maine farmers.

I would have to say that Karen and her family are indeed getting good local support. At about 10 a.m. last Saturday, after only an hour of being open, Karen had sold out of many things, and the chalkboard she uses to advertise her food had been wiped clean of several items. Luckily for us, she still had some garlic sausage left.

Wholesome Holmstead attends various Farmers’ Markets in central Maine, including ones at the Arboretum and the Mill Park, both in Augusta, as well as markets in Belgrade, Gardiner, and Wayne. They also have a farm stand at their Stanley Road Farm, and the stand is open daily.

As a parting bonus, Karen gave me a good tip about how to use the garlic scapes that have recently become all the rage—garlic scape pesto. In a blender or food processor, add the scapes and some olive oil. To this I would also add some walnuts and some kind of grated hard cheese. Another idea for dinner this week because, yes, there are bags of scapes in my refrigerator, and while I have added them to stir-fries, I’ve barely made a dent in them.

Along with the great food, it’s tips like this that make going to the Farmers’ Market so enjoyable.

On Friday, I biked into town to have lunch at Pete’s Roast Beef with Richard and Shane, two of the librarians at Bailey Public Library. Richard is the library’s director, and Shane is the adult services librarian. Since they came to Bailey Library about a year ago, Richard and Shane (and the rest of the staff, of course) have brought energy and snap to our lovely stone library. There are the many events that the library hosts, but there is something else that’s harder to pin down. For those who love books, Bailey Library has become an exciting place to go to discuss books that have been read and to get suggestions for books to be read. And all who work at this library are so warm and welcoming that I always look forward to stopping by to drop off books and to pick up the books I frequently request through the state’s interlibrary loan service.

At Pete’s, Richard, Shane, and I all got the succulent roast beef sandwiches as well as a large order of fries, and when the order came, we tucked into the food, as the saying goes, and we also tucked into some book talk. Both Richard and Shane are avid bibliophiles, and while they are young enough to be my sons, their intelligence and their keen take on the books they’ve read make them seem more like peers.

Much of our talk revolved around the book Atonement by Ian McEwan. Richard and Shane had read it six or seven years ago, and I just finished reading it a few days ago, which meant it was very fresh in my mind. We all agreed it was beautifully written with vivid characters and a plot that is taut with betrayal, sexual tension, guilt, and war. In a nice twist, Briony, who is a young teen when the book opens, is the one who does the betraying and is the one who must spend the rest of her life in atonement.

“I absolutely hated Briony,” Shane declared. “I couldn’t stand her.”

“Really?” I replied. “I felt exactly the opposite. While I thought that what she did was wrong, I had great sympathy for the emotional upheavals she was going through. I can remember going through similar upheavals myself at her age. Of course I never betrayed anyone that way,” I hastened to add.

“It’s amazing how McEwan could write so convincingly from a thirteen-year-old girl’s point of view,” Richard said.

Yes, it is, and it is the sign of an author who has a deep, empathetic grasp of human nature, which he in turn brings to his characters. This empathy, combined with his great writing style, is what makes McEwan such a fine writer.

Still, I had a criticism to add. “I thought the ending was anticlimatic. I thought there should have been a confrontation between Briony and her sister, Cecelia.” (Cecelia was deeply affected by Briony’s betrayal.)

“I agree,” said Shane.

Richard, however, had a dissenting point of view. “Maybe that’s part of McEwan’s brilliance. He didn’t do what was expected.”

Maybe it is, even though I found the end unsatisfying.

The talk then turned to Other Voices, Other Rooms by Truman Capote. Richard thinks it’s a terrific book, but as Shane and I haven’t read it, we were unable to discuss it.

“For next month at Pete’s,” Richard said.

Sounds good to me, and after lunch I went directly to Bailey Library to see if they had a copy of Other Voices, Other Rooms. They didn’t, but I have requested it through interlibrary loan.

I’m looking forward to August and Truman Capote at Pete’s.

Yesterday, on the Fourth of July, we had a “gathering of friends” to celebrate Independence Day. Although the day was hot and muggy and thunder rumbled in the distance, the weather cooperated so that we could have our meal outside on the patio, one of the places I love best. Between the hurry brought about by the threat of rain and my duties as a hostess, I did not take any pictures of the actual event. Therefore, the pictures included in this post are after the fact—the two salads, my gardens, the patio.

Our daughter Shannon and her husband, Mike, were supposed to join us, but unfortunately, Shannon came down with a dratted summer cold and stayed home to doze and to recuperate. They were missed, as was our eldest daughter, Dee, who lives in Brooklyn. As I’m fond of saying to Dee, “If only you lived in Boston…”

As is always the case at our gatherings, there was food galore, with many contributions from our friends. We started with appetizers, which included a Mexican dip, goat cheese and crackers, a melon platter, hummus, pita bread, and carrots. Then it was on to the main meal—grilled hamburgers, hot dogs, and chickpea burgers. (A note about the chickpea burgers: they are actually better fried in a bit of oil in a pan rather then grilled. The chickpea patties tend to be a little dry, and the oil in the pan enhances them.) We also had potato salad, pasta and spinach salad, and a big green salad with a wide variety of greens. A red, white, and blue Jello salad, which has become a staple on Fourth of July. For dessert, strawberry shortcake with chocolate biscuits. A real feast.

Although the food was certainly the centerpiece of the day, the real highlight for me, at least, was the company—Alice and Joel Johnson, Diane Friese, Jill Lectka, and Sybil Baker—and the resulting conversation. We talked about all the things that fire us up—movies, books, politics, art, and a bit of personal stuff, of course. Around the patio table we talked until the mosquitoes drove us in, and sitting around the dinning room table, we talked some more.

In the course of the conversation, there was a discussion about how each year on Public Radio, the Declaration of Independence is read. I mentioned how I love the language of this piece, and how much I enjoy hearing it read. There seemed to be general agreement about this, and there was even a suggestion that next year, we should included a reading of the Declaration of Independence at our gathering. Who knows? Maybe we will.

This morning, Diane sent me an email thanking me for inviting her to the barbecue. I replied, “Actually, I was thinking of sending everyone a thank-you note for joining Clif and me on the Fourth. What a great bunch! I’m so grateful to have you all as friends.”

A very good Fourth, indeed. Now, if only “the kids” could have been there, too.

Last Friday, my daughter Shannon and I celebrated our friend Kate’s birthday. Our tradition is to meet for lunch in Portland, and the birthday “girl” gets to choose the restaurant. Because Portland is such a foodie town, our options are many, and over the years we have eaten at some good restaurants. (There was also a mediocre one—The Merry Table—but this is bound to happen even in a foodie town such as Portland.) However, this time for Kate’s birthday, we hit the foodie jackpot with Hi Bombay, an Indian restaurant (of course!).

We have Shannon to thank for this because it was at her suggestion that we went to Hi Bombay. Shannon and her husband, Mike, had eaten there a week or so earlier, and they both gave it two thumbs up. As Kate would remark, “Shannon, I would not hesitate to go to any restaurant that you recommended.” To this a proud mother could only nod in agreement.

A small, unassuming restaurant with a brick front, Hi Bombay is on the edge of the Old Port. Last Friday was a cool, rainy day, and what a delight it was to open the door of the restaurant and step into a room that was filled with warm colors—red, especially—and warm spicy smells. Kate was at a booth, waiting for us.

“It’s cozy in here, isn’t it?” she said.

Yes, cozy. And welcoming, too. As an added bonus, there was a flat-screen TV with a Bollywood film playing.

Naturally, we had tea. And some naan, the traditional Indian flat bread, which was so fresh and good that it took great self control to have only one piece. (Over the winter, this good eater has put on quite a few pounds, and the time has come to lose some weight. But more about that in a future post.) Kate ordered the fish curry, which, according to the description on the menu, is “seasonal fish cooked in a sauce of onions, tomatoes, ginger, garlic & blend of spices.” Kate said it was outstanding. Shannon and I ordered the tikka chicken masala, chunks of chicken in a tomato sauce softened with a bit of cream and mixed with spices. I am not familiar enough with Indian food to identify by taste what the spices were. There are no Indian restaurants in the Augusta area, and as far as I know, there never have been. At any rate, the tikka masala was so delectable that I could have easily used some of the naan to sop up the last of the sauce. Or maybe just lick the bowl clean. I didn’t do either of those things, but I was tempted.

Shannon asked for medium spicing, and she said her masala had quite a little zing. I am a wimp when it comes to hot spicing, and therefore requested the mild. A good decision. My tikka masala left a pleasant, spicy tingle on my lips, but not an uncomfortable one. Just the way I like it. A bowl of rice came with the masala and the curry, and the rice was beautifully cooked—light and fluffy with each grained defined.

What a meal! We all decided that we must come to this restaurant again, with the “boys” in tow.

Anytime the schedule is free, I’d be ready head to Portland for a meal at Hi Bombay. All it would take is a call or an email from family or friends.  All weekend long, I thought about that tikka masala, remembering the smooth but spicy sauce and the slight tingle it left in my mouth.

It might have been Kate’s birthday, but when food is that good (and so reasonably priced), it is a celebration for everyone involved.

Last Saturday, I helped my daughter Shannon with a bridal shower for her very dear friend Andrea. The shower was held in Hallowell, at Joyce’s Restaurant, upstairs in a long room overlooking the Kennebec River. At one end of the room, there was a grand piano, which nobody played, and at the other end, buffet tables and a bar. In between, tables and chairs for dining. Beyond the buffet tables and bar, there was a small deck, a perfect spot to sip wine and watch the river and admire a lower deck filled with potted herbs.

Joyce’s is a great place for a shower. By the grand piano, there are six or seven funky but comfortable chairs. This is where Andrea sat as she unwrapped presents, and there was plenty of room to make a big circle for other chairs. Andrea got many lovely gifts, and she was appreciative of them all, whether they were large or small. My gift was a Moosewood cookbook and a blue stoneware bowl full of lemon-frosted shortbread. I am, after all, a good eater, and I thought it was appropriate for my gift to literally include food.

Joyce’s prepared a tasty luncheon, which included a creamy tomato soup with basil. (It was the hit of the shower. My, it was good!) In addition, there were two kinds of sandwiches—chicken curry as well as tomato, pesto, and mozzarella; a salad with mixed greens; a pasta salad; fruit; and cookies for dessert. The service was excellent, too. The woman who waited on us was just the right combination of friendly and efficient. She even cheerfully packaged the leftovers for us, and we felt as though we were in good hands.

I have known Andrea since she was five or six years old. I took care of Andrea when she was in grade school, and Andrea and Shannon have been friends all through the years. Andrea has become an elegant young woman who wouldn’t look out of place in a Fred Astaire movie, and it was both moving and joyful for me to be part of this celebration that will bring her to the next phase of her life. Truly, a wedding shower is a rite of passage, where the next generation takes its place in the continuation of the cycle. I was even more moved when Andrea referred to me as her “third mother,” with her own mom and her future mother-in-law being the other two.

I did manage to slip in a little bread talk with Andrea’s future mother-in-law, who loves to cook. She told me about her own experience with making whole wheat bread, and she confirmed my own hunch about how much whole wheat flour to use—1/3 whole wheat flour and the rest unbleached white flour. It was nice to hear I had it right.

Andrea’s wedding will be in September, and she is marrying a man who has such a talent for woodworking that it goes beyond craft and is firmly in the artisan category. He is also a talented photographer. For her own part, Andrea is an accomplished cook. May they have a long, creative life together.