Cross posting

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Mosey on over to our CSA Newsletter #5 for the latest Frog Holler news and photos. Thanks for stopping by!

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This Saturday may be our last market for the year. We don't quite know how the lettuce will "pick out" but if this Saturday isn't the last, then next Saturday will be. That means that we have trucked on down to the Ann Arbor Farmer's Market for six and a half months this year; that Ken King and designated family members have rousted out of bed at 4:00 AM for almost 30 Saturdays and 25 or so Wednesdays; that friends and family have pitched for just as many Tuesdays and Fridays helping to harvest and make salad mix for next day's market; that countless seeds have sprouted, grown to fullness and offered up their ripe richness to harvesting hands; that brightly-colored rows of vegetation have decorated the garden in a changing patchwork throughout the season; that bowed backs have moved slowly through the rows, keen eyes and nimble fingers creating order in cultivation or harvest; that hundreds of boxes have been filled, trucked to market, emptied and dispersed, a
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Many of you who have been around the Frog Holler web site or farm site, know that our roots go back to Indian Summer Natural Foods Restaurant, which began operating in 1972. Why a bunch of twenty-somethings with no previous experience thought they could start a restaurant remains a question that only can be answered by "youth", "idealism", "the times", or just plain foolishness. Somehow we got lucky and Indian Summer, for a few fresh and vibrant years, beamed a beacon of unpretentious high-quality natural food and down-to-earth friendliness to the Ann Arbor community. The restaurant's success and popularity was a magnet to many young people as they passed through town, heading toward other points on down their road of life. I have no doubt that stopping off at Indian Summer for a few shifts in the kitchen or at the tables changed the course of many of those yet unfinished itineraries. Case in point: A gangly youngster not too far out of high school str
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Cruising by the strawberry patch at the end of the day when I scooped up a red beauty and popped it in my mouth -- and stopped in my tracks. Now THAT was a strawberry. Believe me, I have spent hours crawling through strawberry patches, picked thousands of berries, tasted at least well into the upper hundreds. You would think I might be a little jaded. Or at least a bit cool toward these innocuous looking little fruits that take over my life and back for the month of June. But I really had to stop and just taste that berry. Somehow the perfect combination of springtime rains, sweet organic earth, afternoon sun, and essence of berry had conjoined to splash a sparkle of flavor across my tongue that deserved the silence and stillness of utter appreciation. In an extremely busy time for market gardening when strawberry picking becomes yet one more huge task in a day overfull with patches to tend and fences to mend, I appreciated the reminder to stop and savor the fruits of our labor. You ma
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