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Every spring my most determined companion is a Phoebe. This drab little flycatcher constructs her muddy home with maniacal focus atop an electrical outlet on the Foggy Ridge crush pad, just behind the blending tank and next to the glycol chiller. She fusses at the bottling crew, ignores the drone of the air compressor and ... read more
Dad’s Jerusalem Artichoke Relish was a team effort—we dug the knobby tubers in late fall and scrubbed off the sticky red clay. Then the whole family set in chopping. We packed pint jars full of onions, green and red peppers, a few jalapenos and crisp sweet sunchokes. Dad topped each jar with his special vinegar ... read more
When asked to list his strengths at school, my then 10-year old stepson wrote “I’m a good eater”. I, too, am firmly in the “live to eat” camp, and never miss a chance to dine and drink, well and often. But it is “appetite” in the larger sense that grabs my attention these days—our appetite ... read more
We grow azaleas and dogwoods. We’re passionate about closely trimmed lawns. Some of us even grow tomatoes and beans. So why aren’t fruit trees part of the American garden palate? My husband and I love to hike on vacation, and our August trip to England was no exception. Public footpaths skirt, and sometimes invade, private ... read more
Last month I went to heaven, apple heaven that is. My pilgrimage to Brogdale in Faversham, Kent, was an apple lover’s dream. The southern England climate is ideal for fruit growing, and I wandered among the long neat rows of the UK National Fruit Collection drinking in names, colors, scents and stories. First the dessert ... read more
RevPeyton@FRC Who knew that apples and cider would connect me to the creative musicians behind Rev Peyton’s Big Damn Band? As a sideline to his Floyd Fest filming, Todd Godbout and MyJoogTV visited Foggy Ridge with Breezy, Cuz and the Rev in tow. We talked about vegetable gardens, hand hewn log homes, Indiana apples and, ... read more
Each August morning, Foggy Ridge earns its name. Mist rises from Rock House Creek below the Old Orchard, cloaking Carrie’s Hill and obscuring our view of Buffalo Mountain. Early morning sun hits the orchard and Chuck’s vegetable garden, but fog lingers on our ridge until breakfast dishes are done. I love to watch the mist ... read more
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