Back in the days when we lived in Haverhill Corner, we had a large vegetable garden. Eventually, we added many of the fruits that grew on 32 Stark semi-dwarf apple trees I bought by mail and planted out back. We also loved the giant rhubarb stalks we received as gifts from Polly's parents, plus horseradish roots from friends in Newbury, and fat garlics sent our way by Jerry Ghirardi.
We also maintained a continuing supply of luscious, sweet corn for our family from Dean and Dorothy Thorburn's cornfields along the Connecticut River, and we received saucing apples from Tom Stocker's and Jim Alexanderà200-year-old Cortland apple trees.
At one point, with our little homesteading experiment, we opened a farm stand out front on Route 10, giving it the name of Marvin's Gardens. While this fun project was in operation, I awaited with anxieties befit a high-wire circus performer with a dizzy spell, the moment a Parker Brothers Monopoly Game lawyer would drive by and threaten a gazillion-dollar lawsuit unless I immediately ceased using the vegetable stand's plagiarized name.
We never got sued, so we stuck with the risky name, and it was out there for all to enjoy and comment on for several years. We were not professional growers, and as a consequence, some of our produce had a few blemishes, spots, or dings. However, customers did not mind the imperfections, as the products were all grown at the local Marvin's Gardens.
More recently, we enjoyed receiving freshly water-bathed relishes, peaches, and pickles from our granddaughter-in-law, Kelsie, who, along with her husband and our grandson, Alex, processes much of their own food on their home farm in Cornish.
And from friends here in Piermont, we graciously accepted a beautiful Butternut Squash and a bag of fresh-pulled carrots this week. Also, from friends on River Road, we received a tub of freshly made applesauce, while friends on Fox Run sent us home with some nice cucumbers and several fat crimson tomatoes. Two weeks ago, we were given (by our nephew Michael and his lovely wife, Freda) a bag of long, tasty carrots that had been planted and dug at the Moulton Farm in Meredith.
What makes these carrots from Mike and Freda so interesting to me is that they were planted on a part of the same hundreds of acres of fields that I walked as a pre-teen youngster, hand and machine raking hay into wind rows at the Moulton Farm where I worked for many summers before graduating from high school and entering the Marine Corps a week later in 1955.
That ended my vegetable planting days and it was not until 10 years later that I once again took up a shovel, hoe and rake to work the land, this time not the rented land of others, but our own land, where growing fruits and vegetables with Polly and the kids, Bernie and Spencer, became our family's steady warm-weather pastime for many years.
So, at present, we are here in Piermont, where three weeks ago, two of our three great-grandchildren visited for what turned out to be a Sunday afternoon session in the mud. We are surrounded by good earth; this ground here once was part of the Jewell Farm.
Good earth makes mighty fine mud, and with the proper mix of our 480-foot deep, fresh, cold well water, mixed with the right amounts of Charlie Jewell's rich, black Piermont earth, the little guys here were mixing some high-quality mud. This kind sticks to hands, arms, feet, and clothing, and is also excellent for building a Fairy House, something we all did right here.
I wrote about this experience in a Bernie's Beat column two weeks ago. Imagine, if you will, here we are digging in the ground, helping make mud with the little folks. I wasn't digging the land so I could plant rows of carrots, radishes, or beets on this vast former farm; I was helping the kids imagine and create a Fairy House.
I would say that it is an excellent land-use policy we have adopted here and one we intend to maintain.

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