Yesterday I got to run around an East Coast farm all afternoon—I was in Connecticut for a work summit, and the afternoon was dedicated to an excursion of our choice.  Ironically, someone I’d never met recommended via email that I check out this farm adventure, and I’m so glad I took her advice.

Stone Acre Farm in Stonington, CT is bordered by the Atlantic, and while it was 86 degrees, the town pulls an awesome ocean breeze every few seconds. About 40 of us stepped off the bus and onto a gravel lane that led to an open lawn area for lunch.  A local chef mixed up a variety of greens (and even some “weeds”) in a perfect summer salad, grilled jalapeno-Parmesan corn on the cob, and topped our pulled pork tacos with pickled red onion and cojita cheese. We sat in the sun on picnic tables, sunflowers in milk jars as our center pieces, and sipped local brews and ciders between bites.

It was divine. The food, the scenery, the company. I found myself tearing up a few times (and again now as I’m writing this) in the name of both nostalgia for my childhood and gratitude for the life I have as an adult that is so rich with adventure and opportunity.

After lunch, our farm education began in the form of a tour and strategically placed “stations” around the property.  We stood 10 feet from the honeybee swarms and hives while we learned about the importance of pollination, the purpose of the Queen bee and her drones (now there’s some girl power), and then got to taste this season’s harvest in comparison with another local honey. My mind flooded with memories of Rocke’s Honey (my paternal grandfather was a beekeeper) and I loved the gentle reminder of nature’s beautiful intricacies and the vivid memories of my Grandfather telling me to “put some honey on it” whether that was my sore throat, an open cut, blisters, or a broken heart.

Next stop was “tomato training” and I was in hog heaven. I had a custom tote-bag made last year with my favorite things printed on the front, and garden tomatoes made my top 3 short list. We tasted juicy heirlooms and dark yellow Sun-golds, and then traipsed through the dirt of the greenhouse to learn about pruning and plant “training.”  (Who knew you could train tomatoes to not only resemble a vine, but produce clusters of 15+ tomatoes instead of the usual 1-2?) I found myself sharing stories of growing tomatoes and sweet corn in central Illinois, and how proper protein is super overrated when you have a plate heaped with thick slices of salted garden tomatoes and “peaches and cream” corn on the cob from Uncle Kent’s field. As we walked to our last station, I was already scheming about adding tomatoes between my yellow roses on our rooftop patio in Sacramento…I just need to get my hands on some heirloom seeds and good dirt.

Speaking of dirt—last stop—composting.  I was in a navy dress and pearls (I’m fresh out of overalls, and somehow thought this was appropriate for a hot farm tour.)  Anyway, poor clothing judgement didn’t keep me from getting really excited about playing in the dirt. I don’t think I made any friends at that stop, however, as the rest of the group backed up a bit when our “teacher” invited us to get messy.  I played with a pile of regular dirt, partially composted-dirt, and super rich composted-dirt. Again, I was thinking through the logistics of a compost pile in the corner of our rooftop back home and chided myself for living the last 20 years without any composting. (Hopefully my husband doesn’t read this until my tomatoes are planted, and compost has begun so he can’t talk me out of being a farm kid in the middle of the city.)

After our stations, we had time to roam aimlessly about the property—a field of Queen Ann’s Lace bordered the back portion of the property with elaborate flower gardens next to the homestead. The “Yellow Farmhouse” has since been converted into a non-profit, educational space for all things regarding nature, farming, and cooking.

Pretty awesome. I was geeking out the entire afternoon and my heart was ready to burst by the time we boarded the bus to head back to the hotel.

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My family’s farm (in Metamora, IL) will always be my favorite place, as it’s a collection of my best childhood memories that have gently shaped me into the adult I’ve become.  I didn’t appreciate it too much as a kid, as my idea of a good time wasn’t gathering eggs through chicken poop, walking beans in the summer, or stacking split wood in the cellar.  But a day like yesterday reminds me of the goodness that I knew on the farm because it’s where I learned almost everything that matters to me now.

It’s where I learned about hard work, the power of Faith, the strength of family, how to properly compost, and how to best plant beans in straight lines.  It’s where I learned about broken noses, broken hearts, and broken fence.  I learned how to make jam, strip wallpaper, run a saw, preserve beef and butcher chickens.

It’s where I learned to drive…a 3-wheeler, a tractor, and a 5-speed stick shift on the back gravel road. (What I really learned, was that my dad had/has the patience of a saint, and that his attention to detail and requirement that I listen to all things about proper engine functioning was going to teach me patience, too, as I had to take it all in before I could even start the engine.)

It’s also where I learned to paint, mow in straight lines, play football, recycle before it was easy, and build a mean snow fort.

I credit almost all of my imagination and sometimes excessive creative thought to having a childhood void of pop culture. I learned to play, imagine, create, read, and write, in lieu of TV or radio entertainment.

I know general education, college, higher degrees, and ongoing learning are super important, but I’ll also argue that a proper farm education trumps everything else.

So thanks, mom and dad, for the farm degree and thank you “Yellow Farmhouse,” for the refresher and for carrying on a farm education through each lesson you provide the folks who visit your property.  Maybe you could take a page from Robert Fulghum and create a collection of vignettes: “Everything I need to know about life I learned from the farm.”

I’d buy a copy.