In early October, I drove deep into Oregon’s wine country twice, but I never had a sip of wine.
Writers, policy makers, chefs, and tv personalities love to strike the “food as community” gong, urging us, their audience, to gather around the table, to cook for each other, to know who grows our food, and to connect over a plate of whatever is freshest and most in season.
After much conversation and anticipation, “Hell Week” had finally arrived for Zenger Farm interns Brad, Brittany, and Aaron.
When I get in my car, my only hope is to reach my destination as quickly as possible, whether that destination is ten minutes away or two hours.
Shortly before lunch at Schoolyard Farms' summer camp, Courtney Leeds and Brooke Hieserich decided to shake things up for a few minutes.
Standing inside a cool warehouse, surrounded by rack upon rack of oak and steel barrels in various stages of fermentation, Drew Herman was willing to let me taste as much wine as I wanted.
While early dusk settled across downtown Portland, the sun still shone brilliantly orange a mere fifteen minutes away, casting long and dappled light onto Sauvie Island.
Genevieve Flanagan is currently a farmer without a single pea pod, head of lettuce, or red radish to show for it.
A lot had changed in the 6 weeks between my first visit to Zenger Farm and the warm late May days of my most recent visits.
The chocolate chip cookies were melting in the surprisingly warm April sun.
I met Zenger Farm's new interns on a cloudy Wednesday morning, a day when the cool air felt refreshing and hopeful, buffered by a warm breeze and punctuated by noises around the property: tilling of the planting fields, chattering children on a school trip, and construction on Zenger’s soon-to-open Grange.
I can feel it in the ever-warming air: winter is over, and the food at Portland area farmers’ markets has finally started to match the warmer temperatures.
Talking about food is best on a full stomach, as the resulting discourse, often fraught and conflicted, flows best when not hindered by hunger-induced crankiness.
At a Wednesday CSA pick-up at Working Hands Farm in Hillsboro, Oregon, that “imperative to feed people” stood out clearly, just as it had when I observed the farm’s CSA pick-up last year.
My husband recently rushed home from picking up a box of pasta at our local grocery store, eager to relay a conversation he’d overheard before forgetting its details.
"Farming” in America holds many meanings, and only a few have anything to do with food.
As much as they might crave a comfy couch, a relaxing beverage, and a sturdy ottoman, farmers don’t have the luxury of sitting down for an extended chat.
We stopped at People’s Coop several rainy Fridays ago, drawn to lower SE Portland with the idea of enjoying a smoothie from Sip before heading inside to re-fill a few bulk spice containers.
Picture a neighborhood – not an area of urban density, but a typical block of single family homes.
While the Portland Farmers Market operates eight prominent markets around the city, there are other local farmers’ markets that exist outside of this official umbrella.
Last summer, Nathan Moomaw recruited customers for his new pastured based meat farm, Moomaw Family Farm, before owning a single animal.
Few words are as visually evocative, or as illustrative of their definition, as “tumbleweed”.
It was more than open land that I suddenly craved; I wanted to interact with more of nature’s elements than just water.
A few weeks ago, I listened to an NPR piece about the Oregon Country Fair.
There's frequently a disconnect between how people portray themselves online, and how they act in reality: the bubbliest, most engaged person on iChat ends up being taciturn and standoffish in person.
"Sorry, I take pictures of poop," Shanna Schlitz ruefully shrugged as she crouched over an unidentified specimen with her iPhone.
Since moving to Portland, I've quickly developed an appreciation for a wide range of tattoo art.
Spending time on a farm tends to lead to deep philosophical conversations about the nature of life and society.
It's a well reported fact that the average age of an American farmer is nearly 60 years old.
On Saturday, in between shopping for various kinds of raab, cabbage, and chard, I passed the shopping bags to Justin, as I was eager to play with our new camera, the Fujifilm x100s.
Portland's main farmers' market (Saturday's PSU Market) may be on hiatus for these middle winter months, but the Portland Farmers' Market organization hasn't left us market-goers in a complete lurch.
It's an unfortunate reality that by December, many farmers' markets are shut for the season.
A few weekends ago, Justin and I, along with several friends, drove the ten miles from SE Portland to Sauvie Island, on a pumpkin picking quest.
On a recent episode of Anthony Bourdain's No Reservations, Bourdain explored Austin, Texas during the insanity of the South by Southwest (SXSW) music festival.
While working on a photo assignment, I found myself with thirty minutes to 'waste' at the Shemanski Park Farmers Market.
We booked tickets for a Plate and Pitchfork farm dinner as soon as we moved to Portland.
Harry Short grows varieties of vegetables that you've never heard of.
The Farm Bill reauthorization is steadily moving forward, with Senators and committees recommending cuts and shifts.
Despite its innocuous name, the Farm Bill is a beast of legislation.
I feel like I blinked and the food at the farmers' markets transitioned from beets and carrots to strawberries, fava beans, snap peas, and asparagus.
I awoke on Saturday to the realization that it was both St.
Across the country, January was the fourth warmest January on record.
I only had time to take a few pictures before I quickly ran out of hands as I checked off items from my shopping list!
If Copenhagen were the meat (or cheese, if you're a vegetarian!) of our trip, then London served as the sandwich bread for said meat.
The CAFO Reader has been a long (clearly, I started over four months ago!) and challenging read.
We had beautiful, seasonal wildflowers at our wedding, but I've since remarked that if I were to marry again again (you know--in a parallel universe), I'd be tempted to carry stunning greens (or even a bouquet of asparagus).
What image comes into your head when you hear the phrase ‘technological takeover’?
While we were in Portland, exploring the farmers market, we couldn't help but notice how many farmers' stands featured stinging nettles.
Last Saturday, we spent all morning at the Portland Farmers Market, located along the grassy park in the middle of Portland State University's campus.
I attended a panel discussion several weeks ago at NYU that corresponded perfectly with the section I just finished in The CAFO Reader--in fact, the timing of the panel felt almost like I had planned it.
Designers Catalina Rozo & Melissa Clinard recently created these bags to support local farmers in Alachua County, FL.
I found Part 4 of The CAFO Reader to be dense and slightly repetitive.
Each summer in elementary school, my brother and I would participate in the summer library program.
Fittingly enough, Part 1 of The CAFO Reader starts from the true beginning of the development of industrial meat production.
Some people assign themselves enjoyable New Year’s resolutions along the lines of ‘See friends more’ or ‘Take time for me’.
Today’s chillier, rainy weather may have elicited groans and snooze buttons from some, but I was actually excited to wake up to a dreary Monday.
As I quickly mentioned in the previous post, we drove out to Neversink, New York on Saturday for a barn dinner hosted by Neversink Farm and prepared by the staff of the West Village's Bobo restaurant.
When Justin and I moved to Brooklyn last Fall, we were inundated with things to see, do, and eat.
After reading about the dedication and heart the Blews put in each day at Oak Grove Plantation, you’re probably wondering more about their products.
The years following the purchase and creation of Oak Grove Plantation saw Ted and Susan Blew raising four young children while striving to make the farm as successful as possible.
“People used to say it’s going to be the hardest thing you’ll ever do, buying a farm.
Last week, I braved the BQE, navigated the Verrazano, and drove to Pittstown, NJ.
When we returned from our honeymoon, we faced the end of vacation woes: an empty fridge, piles of laundry, and exhaustion.
Last night I attended 'Room to Grow': Real Roles for City Residents & Food Professionals in Urban Agriculture.