story by Tenaya DarlingtonWord of a new cheesemaker travels fast at Headhouse Square Farmers Market. There, amid the flowers and fresh vegetables, you’ll find muffins of beautifully-crafted fresh goat cheese by Mary-Jean Bendorf and Jeff Henry. Bendorf and Henry travel from their Pocono farmstead to offer raw goat’s milk and an assortment of raw
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Tucked between routes 1 and 13, Morrisville’s 25-acre Snipes Farm & Education Center is rich in history. The land has been in the Snipes family since 1848, when it got its horticultural start as a nursery; trees grown here were uprooted and taken by horse-drawn cart to Chestnut Hill, the Main Line and Fairmount Park.
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The last time was a pork sandwich, with greens, from the local pizza shop. The sandwich arrived soggy with grease; the pork, a glum gray; the broccoli rabe limp and lifeless. It was, for all intents, a waste of my 10 bucks. That was a Friday. April 8. I’d come home from work feeling tired,
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I confess. I judge books by their covers. I’ll happily lay down an extra couple of dollars for the bottle of wine with the well-designed label. And yes, this unfortunate tendency extends to my little garden. For the past several years, containers sprouting heirlooms with awesome names (Mr. Stripey, Dragon’s Egg, Boothby’s Blonde, Painted Lady)
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I have many photographs of garter snakes attacking. Some are biting my hand. The others are going after the camera, their pink mouths open wide and ready to do battle. I am usually trying for a more peaceful composition, but garter snakes are fighters—they don’t sit there passively while a monster lifts them way off
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