Still in the skillet, these carrots (dug from the garden the same day) are irresistible.  (Photo by Kara Berlage.)

It’s Friday, and time to prepare for another delicious Farm-to-Table dinner at Farmstead. Fall is in the air, with a tinge of color on the sugar maples north of the garden. I have my Rubbermaid tote in one hand and a potato fork in the other. Frequent rains mean it’s rubber-boot weather as I venture forth to dig fresh carrots for the meal.

I can smell the earthy carroty-ness as soon as the pronged spade pries up the crumbly soil. Fingers launch into the cool earth, seeking the orange, purple, and yellow treasure hidden within. It’s always such a long wait for carrots, with tedious weeding and careful watering.  But now it’s time at last, and I can taste them already as I dig away, the carrots thudding in the bin, a handful at a time.  I’m tempted to rub the soil off one of them on my pants leg and taste it, but I resist.

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