A Village of Relationships
We cannot assume sole credit for the manifestation of fable farm fermentory, for we are merely vessels for the flow of energy on our farm and in our fermentory. We are most grateful for and indebted to the many hands and minds that have guided us along our growth and development. We’re grateful for the kind folks who have generously allowed us to harvest heaps of apples from their land. We’re grateful for the veteran farmers and wine makers of Vermont who have pioneered a thriving agrarian culture for us to contribute to. It takes a Village and the relationships therein, to raise and sustain a farm.
We express our deep gratitude to Sabra and Sebastian of Flaghill Farm and Winery, Nick Cowles of Shelburne Orchards and Steve Wood of Farnum Hill Ciders for providing us with the scionwood for most of our grafted trees. To Joe and Maxine LaDoucer of Bowman Road Farm for bringing us to Barnard. To fellow Barnard winemakers, Deirdre Heekin and Caleb Barber of La Garagista Farm and Winery for supporting, guiding, and inspiring us. To fellow agrarian manifester, Todd Hardie of Thornhill Farm – our guiding angel. And to our tribal council of the Broad Brook Basin.
Heart of my Home
One Fall day back in 2008 – our first season living and farming in Barnard – we decided, on a whim, that it would be fitting to sell some mulled sweet cider at the farmers’ market alongside our vegetables. So the day before our market, we set out to glean some apples from an abandoned lot down the road from our farm. Little did we know, this would be the beginning of a lifelong relationship with the Apple Spirit.
Folks had mentioned that there was an old apple mill at Balla Machree in East Barnard and after we gathered our fruit, we headed down the road, following the Broad Brook till we reached the cider mill who’s name translates to Heart of my Home in Gaelic. The press was housed in a three-sided pole barn that reflected well the splattering of time and season. Nobody was there and farm implements were strewn about the yard. It wasn’t clear if the press was operational. Discouraged, we got back in the truck, turned around, and started driving back to Barnard, contemplating our options.
We didn’t have to drive but a mile when we spotted a man off in a distant field. We pulled over and asked if he knew who to talk to about pressing apples at the mill. He replied “well that there would be me.” Elated, we explained to him our intended plans and asked if we might be able to use his press. He was in the middle of harvesting potatoes, but just happened knock over a bucket of foul smelling liquid. He eyed our cargo; it wasn’t much. He eyed the bucket.
The mill, much like an old steamship, is large and cumbersome and only fit for voluminous pressings. We had no idea that our bushel of apples was, at best, a mockery in the face of this workhorse and, at worse, a nuisance. Maybe it was the stench that permeated the potato patch that day, or the glow of youthful hope, fueled by naiveté, radiating from our eyes, but he jabbed his fork in the soil and said, “okay, let’s go”.
That was the beginning of a life-long relationship with friend and comrade Randy Leavitt, who most generously allowed us to use his family’s press for our annual “barrel days”. We would go on to press juice for six years at Balla Machree Farm before finally purchasing our own water presses in 2014. We feel that this story epitomizes the strength of our community and the type of relationships we’ve formed in the process of growing native to our land and building our farm and fermentory.