Farm + Market

My family’s tradition is the bûche de Noël. A Christmas log. It arrives on an antique silver platter, dusted lightly with powdered sugar for snow, as if it has just been lifted from the forest floor.

This summer has been a season of light and abundance, a time when the land seems to glow from within. From the golden haze over vineyard rows to the bustle of the Saturday Farmers’ Market, I’ve been behind the camera capturing the faces, fields and kitchens that tell Healdsburg’s story...

When I was younger, I used to walk to the dusty farmstand from the Prestons’ house on Dry Creek Road. We’d eat a peach on the way back, the warm, sticky juice running down our cheeks and arms marking summer’s beginning in quiet streaks of gold.

Healdsburg is full of food secrets. Someone knows who has the best mulberries (the word on the street is Preston and Millbrook Farms). Someone else swears by the broccoli at Noble Goat. There’s a bee person everyone keeps telling me I have to meet—and a seed guy, too.

"There’s a rhythm to it all: the harvest, the heat, the soft plunk of fruit into baskets and the bubbling whisper of molten strawberries on the stove, " writes columnist Liza Gershman. She goes on explain that the gift of the 'Farm + Market: Healdsburg' book she's working on is in the people she's meeting, the friends reconnected with, and the beauty of walking through gardens, farms, ranches..."

At the Healdsburg Certified Farmers’ Market, strawberries are reaching their peak sweetness, their scent lingering in the air before they are even visible in the stalls. Spring onions and green garlic are tender, fava beans are shelled by the pound and sugar snap peas—the kind of bright green that seems to be omnipresent in my life lately—offer that crisp, wet-mouth crunch that makes them an irresistible snack...

"This is my 20th year photographing harvest—since 2005—and I still love this time," writes Liza Gershman. "I’ve spent nights with vineyard crews lit only by headlamps and moonlight, capturing the exact moment the fruit leaves the vine. My favorite moment is when the deepest darkness turns into light and the sky opens up. I rarely see sunrise outside of harvest. There’s a reverence to it. A rhythm. A knowing..."

Oysters were a growth process for me. I’ve never been much for foods that require time to “learn to enjoy,” but summer parties on Nantucket often include bountiful trays of oysters and chilled shrimp, and nothing else. And if the evening stretches into a string of gatherings, there is often little else to eat. One night a friend laughed and said, “You’re really missing out on something delicious.”