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The Downtown Farmers’ Market is all about keeping things as local as possible. The more commerce we can keep here in the community the better in our opinion. We love finding more and more ways to make the local option the most viable one. It only makes sense that this commitment would soon extend passed our own mouths to include our furbabies as well. This gap is merged by Steve and Connie Sutton, the pet-loving couple behind Dewey’s Dog Treats. Steve shows up most weeks with his signature straw hat, Connie sports her warm smile, and Duey the dog by their side. Every time I have a moment at their booth I get sucked in by how beautiful their displays of look: biscuits, doggy cupcakes, and dehydrated sweet potato curls meticulously arranged on a gigantic bone shaped table.  Intrigued and not really knowing anything about dog treats, we went back and forth trying to arrange a behind the scenes peek that didn’t cause to much of a disruption to their business and life. The perfect opportunity finally presented itself one Monday evening and I excitedly drove to the Sutton’s home to take a gander at what goes into making some of the prettiest baked good I’ve ever seen.

“You made it!” Connie said opening their front door wide to let me in. Steve smiled and greeted me as Duey ecstatically bounced

Little Duey dude

around in welcome. A second caramel colored dog lingered coyly in the corner. “That’s Shiloh. She is very shy.” Steve commented. I was quickly led to the kitchen where I participated in the mandatory visitor treat giving to the pups, and where the heart of the Dewey’s Dog operation resides. “WOW!” I said looking at the wall of plastic organizers labeled with different treat offerings. “This looks so professional!” I said walking over to the racks. “Yes, we’ve been at this for a while and have really streamlined our process,” Steve explained. “How long have you been doing this?” I pressed. “Well Connie has had a long-time interest in wholesome dog treats and made her first batch in 2008,” Steve started, “At that time we also looked into trying to find a side business we could do for ourselves. This was right after the recession. With a little bit of research, we found out that during the recession the only industry that wasn’t affected was the pet food industry. So, we started messing around.” Around 4 years later after testing and perfecting their recipes they kicked off their doggy baked good at the Tuachan market, joining the Ancestor Square Farmers’ Market the next season. “We’ve been at the Downtown Farmers’ market every season since then, except for the two years we had the store. There’s no place like Ancestor Square! You can quote me on that.” Steve laughed. “Oh I will!” I retorted.

left to right: Packaged treat, Steve and Connie, and dried ingredients.

“So where do you come up with your recipes?” I asked wondering if cooking for dogs was remotely similar to cooking for humans. “It started out with a lot of research,” Connie said thoughtfully, “I wanted to make something that was gluten free, dairy free, sugar free, and egg free. This led me to a recipe from the Great Depression called whacky cake. I used that as a jumping off point and started experimenting testing the treats out on Dewey and Shiloh. The original recipe has oil in it, but we don’t use that.” “Do you want to see our 3 main ingredients?” Steve smiled. He then went into the pantry and brought out two gigantic bags of Bob’s Red Mill rice flour and gluten free all-purpose baking flour and set them on the counter. From there he walked over and grabbed a container of organic peanut butter and set it in front. “These form the base of our treats. We also dehydrate all the other ingredients ourselves.” I followed Steve over to the industrial shelf where he pointed out the homemade jerky, dried apple slices, bananas, and sweet potato curls. “You guys make your own jerky?” I asked. “Yep! London broil.” Connie answered unphased. Looking at the containers on the shelf then to the cooling racks on the counter, the sheer amount of labor that went into every treat was beginning to dawn on me.  “So, Connie will take those ingredients and grind them down and make different flavors. She’ll also do that to get the coloring. We use Carob as a dog safe chocolate flavoring.” He pulled out a container of little square treats whose color immediately conjured up visions of gingerbread. “That’s so cool.” I whispered as I inspected the treats. Steve continued without missing a beat, “Connie also makes all the colored frosting herself. It’s a tapioca-based frosting and let’s say we need a red, she’ll dehydrate cranberries crush them down and there you go.”  I turned back to Connie who was standing quietly in the kitchen smiling. “This is a lot of work.” I blurted out idiotically. They both laughed.

fresh apple fritters, labels, training treats, and homemade bones.

“Yes it’s a lot… Connie does 98% of it and she does it all by hand. All the cutting, all the decorating, all of it.” Steve added. Connie smiled modestly. Steve then told me that he was developing a mechanical roller to at least help with getting consistent thicknesses and alleviating some of the manual labor. “So do you guys only do this to sell at the farmers market? Or do you sell other places?” I asked trying to mentally tally up the amount of Connie’s life spent in the kitchen. “No we have the online store and we sell at a couple places throughout the city. One of our main partners is the Best Friends Animal Society we’ve worked with them for over 4 years.” Steve then walked me through starting out with a dozen bags here and there, then growing to making 200 bags every 6 to 8 weeks. “We couldn’t have picked an industry with more competition. There are a lot dog treat brands out there, but we rely on the quality of our product. Which made it really exciting when we started outselling the competition,” Steve said. I nodded in agreement thinking of homegrown tomatoes versus store bought. Quality is always noticeable. Then it struck me: 200 bags by hand. I turned to Connie, “How long does an order like that take you to make?” She laughed probably at the visible distress on my face, “If I hit it hard around 2 weeks. They need to be as fresh as possible because the only preservative is citric acid but I do try to anticipate our customers as much as I can.” “When you say 2 weeks, is that all day for 2 weeks or is that pacing yourself?” I asked trying to organize my thoughts. “That’s 2 weeks all day, every day.” Connie chuckled half exasperated half amused, “But it’s my passion so it’s worth it. And I love how many rescues this has gotten us involved with.” Steve nodded in support, “It’s insane in here when we have orders but we love it.” We stood in the kitchen in a moment of imaginary overwhelm at the amount of work that was waiting just days away. “Hold on. You guys also make special occasion dog cakes, right? Where does that fit in?” I questioned. Connie explained that they seek out dog bakeries when on vacation because it’s a hobby and their business. On a trip to California, they stumbled on one that was printing pictures of dogs on cakes. “I freaked and asked the lady how she was doing the pictures. She walked me through it and I was sold.” Connie and Steve then recounted some of their customers and their crazy, fun stories. They’ve done birthday cakes, adoption cakes, and K-9 police dog retirement cakes. “People order the cake then we meet them locally for the pick-up. At some point, we get to meet the dog and learn more about them. It’s been so much fun,” Connie grinned.

Dewey’s dog cakes

Duey sauntered over to me and nudged my hand with his sweet little black face. “Hey Duey…” I said stroking his ears. “So his name is spelled d-u-e-y and the company is d-e-w-e-y right?” I clarified while gently running my fingers behind the pup’s half bent ears. “Yes because he’s not the original Dewey. This is the original Dewey,” Steve pointed to a wood burned portrait of a very different dog. “It’s actually a crazy story how we ended up with him.” Steve looked at Connie to fill in the gaps. Connie explained how they had rescued the original Dewey when he was 2 from a shelter in Vegas and had him for 13 years, “I couldn’t take that dog anywhere. People recognized him and would stop us, he also had this signature tail wag that was so unique. After he passed,” Connie sighed, “I swore no more dogs.” Two weeks later, a video from B.A.M. showed up in her timeline. “It caught my eye because this dog was doing the same thing with his tail that Dewey did. About a minute into the video they said his name was Duey and I knew it was a sign.” Connie called that afternoon. Duey had been admitted to the shelter with a crushed hip joint, whoever ended up taking him would have to commit to the surgery and the 12 weeks of rehab. Connie and Steve volunteered without blinking an eye. “We worked very closely with Woof out in Santa Clara and he’s made a full recovery.” Connie finished. “Well it looks like everyone’s made a full recovery!” I added. We laughed for a minute. “YES!” Steve added. We all looked at Duey and I shook my head at this dog’s sheer dumb luck that he stumbled broken into probably the most perfect home he could’ve dreamed of, eating gourmet treats all day. Those feelings were immediately followed by gratitude for people like Steve and Connie who take care of animals and give them good homes. Duey had no idea what I was thinking but was happy to be there.

Duey hanging out with Dewey

We continued chatting, I found out that Connie and Steve have a long history of adopting and fostering animals. Way back in the day before they were married, Connie lived in Huntington Beach, California and had become locally known as ‘The Dog Lady.’ “People would move and leave their animals, I would foster them and try and find them homes. At one point I had 12 dogs!” Connie exclaimed. Several stories later it became so crystal clear that the reason so much love is poured into these treats is because Connie and Steve love animals so much. We talked about the store and the absolute draining chaos of managing a physical location. “You want to see something cool?” Steve coaxed us into the front room where a huge carved dog head hung on the wall. “This was the old store sign made by Rorr Productions from Salt Lake. It’s based off a picture of Dewey.” I stood there examining the beautiful hand carving and detail. Connie then showed me a picture of Duey laying on the couch below the sign. How perfect, I thought, old and new hanging out together. Steve and Connie then gave me a gigantic stuffed dog that also used to be part of the store to take home to my son. As I said goodbye and loaded up, I again found myself so incredibly thankful for the opportunity to see behind the curtain. To meet these people and see the amount of love and work that gets poured into every product makes me proud to be a part of the St. George community.

You can purchase Dewey’s Dog Treats at the Downtown Farmers’ Market on Saturday or at Best Friends animal shelter. You can also place orders for treats on their website deweysdogtreats.com local pickup options are available. You can also find them on Facebook HERE.

Being the Market Manager, I have spent the season honing my market routine and shopping strategies. I know if want salad greens I need to buy them first thing. I make sure to get different herbs for cooking. I try to support every farmer and rotate from week to week. I never buy the same thing two weeks in a row. There is one exception to this rule however, and that happens to be the irresistible Biscuit and Gravy Cupcake made by Baked by Lodi. It starts out with a biscuit base that is hollowed out and filled with a ball of cheesy hash brown goodness, then it’s drizzled with homemade gravy, sprinkled with spicy sausage, and tucked up in a neat, white box. Sheer breakfast perfection. Baked by Lodi also offers new and exciting specialty items each week like candied-bacon-beer bread, grilled pineapple hand pies, and delectable cupcakes. With the opportunity arising to interview bakers, I knew I had to pick the brains of Heidi Ellsworth and Logan Mathis the creative couple behind the brand. As I pulled up to their beautiful townhome, I looked up to see Logan’s head floating in midair out the cracked door, wearing his signature Cheshire grin. I started laughing. After working around him the entire summer, I can honestly tell you this is how he looks 100% of the time, except his body is usually visible. I walked up to the door and he welcomed me in and Heidi greeted me at the edge of the living room. “We’re REALLY excited if you can’t tell,” She said laughing. “Good. So am I!” I answered as I followed them down their hallway into the kitchen.

Cinnamon rolls, Heidi and Logan at the market, and carrot cake cupcakes

As we reached the end of the hallway, I was shocked to look up and see that were a dining room table would normally be, industrial stainless-steel racks of cooking supplies lined the wall. Along with two matching stainless-steel islands, a second fridge, and tons of

Industrial shelves full of goodies.

neatly organized cooking accoutrements. “Um…. WOW!” I said, slightly stunned. Remembering that Lodi is a fledging bakery, I asked, “Did you get all this set up just for the farmers’ market?” Heidi responded in a nervous giggle, “Uh no. I’ve always been into baking and so has Logan. So, we kind of have this set up like this more out of necessity.” An instant pang of jealousy rushed down my spine. “Ya, this isn’t even all our baking stuff. A lot of it we keep in sealed organizers so we have room to work. I think we have 4 big ones upstairs,” Logan added. I turned to him a little dumbfounded, “Seriously?” I asked as they both agreed. “How did you guys get into this? I mean, how did you guys decide that baking was going to be your thing?” Heidi sat down at the countertop and I followed her lead. “Well, I grew up baking with my grandma. She has always been the baker in the family and I loved it. She taught me a lot.”  Heidi went on to tell me about visiting her Uncle in San Diego and watching an episode of Cupcake Wars on the Food Network. “I just remember seeing that show and thinking to myself that I could do that. I came back and signed up for a couple of Wilton cake decorating classes, tried it out, and loved it.” She moved out to San Diego, enrolled in a culinary arts program, and started working part time in a kitchen supply store (hence the massive collection of baking instruments). I sat there impressed. “No wonder your stuff is so good, you’re a professional!” I added. Heidi smiled, “Not quite, I didn’t finish the program, but I like to think I know what I’m doing.” I can vouch, Heidi knows what she’s doing. Logan leaned against the kitchen counter smiling. “And how do you fit into all of this? How did you get into baking?” I asked.

CUPCAKES

Logan shrugged, “I like sweet stuff.” I laughed. “No, I grew up with a lot of cooking in my family and I like baking. Actually, that’s how

A sign in the couple’s home.

I convinced Heidi to go on our first date, I told her I made the best pumpkin chocolate chip cookies.” Again I laughed, looking at Heidi, “No way! That’s adorable!” Heidi nodded, smiling, “Ya, and after all that talk he forgot to put the chocolate chips in.” “They were still amazing, but I did forget the chocolate chips,” Logan laughed. I shook my head at the sitcom cuteness of the whole thing. It snowballed from there. They started baking together and Heidi taught Logan more and more tricks of the trade until Logan and Heidi became Lodi. “Now Logan does most of the baking since I work full time, but when I get home we’re in here together.” Logan and Heidi then told me some of their crazy stories about making it all work. For example, their stove caught fire and hasn’t been the same since. So, now they have to set several timers throughout the baking process to remind them to turn the goodies in order to ensure an even bake. I felt overwhelmed for them since timing everything right in even a stir fry gives me a panic attack.

“How do you guys do all that and come up with recipes?” I asked. “We usually start with old family recipes, then we go from there and try to make it our own.” Heidi answered. “We just try tons of stuff.” Logan added, “You’d actually be surprised at how much stuff doesn’t work.” He chuckled. “YES!!! Sometimes it’s recipes we’ve made 100 times and they don’t turn out!” Heidi added. “So, we chuck them and start over.” This quickly turned into a recount of failed flavor combinations and the successful recipes that those led to. Sitting there listening to them go back and forth, it wasn’t hard to see the hard work that goes into Baked by Lodi. This is not just a hobby that let’s them wear matching t-shirts, it’s their passion and creative outlet. It’s no wonder the food is so good. “So…. What are your plans for Baked by Lodi? I mean what do you want to see happen?” I questioned, already clearly seeing the answer before me. “Have you ever seen Cake Boss?” Logan asked seriously. Again, I couldn’t help but laugh, “Yes, I’ve seen Cake Boss.” “That.” Logan smiled. This time we all laughed together, “Honestly though, we have had so much fun at the market doing this and making coffee that it seriously has us talking about getting the ball rolling on a joint bakery coffee shop.” Heidi added. I couldn’t help but emphatically encourage them for my own selfish daydream of biscuit and gravy cupcakes all day every day. Logan walked over to one of the fridges and whipped out a plate of fresh, white chocolate cupcakes and offered me one.

In the kitchen and some delicious breads cooling.

We sat and talked for a little while longer about making the leap as a small business to a brick and mortar location. They told me about possible menu options and décor ideas. I have to admit, I was very excited. This is one of the cornerstone beliefs of the Farmers’ Market, we want to be an affordable way for locals to bring their products to the masses. Without a place like that in our community, how would a small business get their foot in the door? The barriers to entry are too great and it would leave a lot of local dreams dead in the water. We are so proud to have Baked by Lodi as one of our anchor bakers at the market. You can support them almost every Saturday and place specialty orders throughout the week for delivery. Baked by Lodi also offers dessert catering and are now booking for the holidays. You can follow them on Instagram or contact them at (435)467-4410.

One thing that I whole-heartedly love about the Farmers’ Market is the wide variety of personalities that it brings together. You’d think that it would attract the same type of people, but everyone is different, quirky, and fun in their own way. I think Seth Stinson is probably the embodiment of that. He is always bright eyed and bushy tailed, quick with a joke, and light hearted to the extreme. His unique range of products exemplifies his individuality. Who else sells duck eggs and live fermented foods like pickles and Kim-chi? So, I was absolutely delighted when given the opportunity to go spend a morning with Seth up in Central, Utah.  As I pulled into the cabin studded subdivision, it was hard to imagine a farm out here. The rugged, dry landscape seemed only conducive to the gnarly junipers and Pinyon pines that dominated the scenery. As I rounded a corner dense with trees, I veered sharply into Seth’s concealed driveway. As I pulled up to the three story, A-frame house, Seth was standing outside wearing his signature smile and farmers’ market t-shirt. That’s so awesome, I thought as I hurriedly unbuckled to get out of the car. “Hello!” Seth called. “Now, where would you like to start?” he said, wasting no time. “Wherever you think is best. This is your show!” I answered. “Alright, let’s go.” Seth pointed to the right side of the house and we were off.

Immediately to the right of the driveway the terraced gardens began. The retaining walls are compiled out of all kinds of

Roof top sprinkler

bricks, cinderblocks, and huge pieces of wood. Each section contains a variety of plants. By the time we had reached the edge of the house, the rugged natural landscape was replaced with the dreamy, green wilderness Seth has created. “You want to see something neat?” Seth started fiddling with the hose spigot. I looked at him inquisitively. Surely, he knows I’ve seen a hose before, I thought. “Look!” Seth then pointed to the hose that was running up his roof. I traced it to the top with my eyes and by the time they reached the sprinkler mounted to the roof, water began shooting out of it. “It has a 60 foot watering circumference. It’s also completely efficient: water lands on the roof cooling the house, then runs down the roof into the beds below, no water is wasted.” I stood there laughing in the early morning shower. “Okay, that’s enough.” Seth turned the water off. “Let’s go over here.”  He began walking down the garden-lined path that leads around the house. If it’s possible to have a Willie Wonka and the Chocolate Factory moment about gardening, I was having it. Each bed had its own unique piece of art and complimentary variety of plants. More and more levels of the terraced gardens came into view, making the garden visually appear to be 7 feet tall. There was so much to take in I had to stop and start laughing in overwhelm, “Seth!” I exclaimed. He turned around quickly, probably thinking something was wrong with me because I had cut him off midsentence. “This is amazing!” I sputtered, “I mean… How long have you been out here? How did you start all this?” He smiled. Seth calmly explained to me that he had been out in Central for 20 years (which looks like the right amount of time to get a garden like that) and that his parents had always gardened but it wasn’t until he took a Botany class in college that his curiosity and passion for gardening was sparked.

Magnificent Garlic Chives

By this time, we reached the back corner of the walkway where we stood in front of a bed full of Garlic flowers and a wall of herbs.  Breaking off a few Garlic Chive flowers, Seth handed them to me. “Here, dry these then plant them and you’ll have your own Garlic Chives. You’ll actually probably need a bag by the time we’re done.” I smiled as I looked down at my flowers thankfully. This is one of my favorite things about gardening: It’s so easy to share and feel connected to each other and history. Now, when I have Garlic Chives in my garden I will always refer to it as Seth’s chives, and I’ll know where it came from. Sentimental and dumb I know. I looked up and realized Seth was up the path a ways. I hustled to catch up. The small, side path came to a huge wall of grapes and opened to a gigantic yard of terraced gardens. “Holy cow!” I said, holding my hand to my brow to shade my eyes. Bed after bed of beautiful tomatoes, fruit trees, and vegetables sprawled out in front of me. “Yep I do what I can,” Seth said casually. I was completely stunned as Seth started telling me the different varieties and ages of the plants. “See those two pear trees there? Through grafting, I’ve made it so I get 5 different types of pears from each.” He said matter-of-factly. “No way! That actually works?” Seth nodded. It was hear that Seth pointed out that he had 27 different types of trees on the property, including a very extensive collection of Utah native plants. “Here let me show you the Jujube tree.” Seth excitedly walked down a side path. “This is the only tree I get fruit from every year because it waits so long to bloom. The other trees are idiots and bloom in March then freeze, but not this one.” I couldn’t help but laugh. It wasn’t hard to spot because the tree was chalk full of exotic looking green fruit. “So, the fruit comes on, I leave it on the tree to dry and then I pick it.” Seth said, while pointing out the male and female Jujube trees he was cultivating. “Wait, you leave the fruit on there?” I repeated. “Yep. The birds don’t know what it is, so I don’t have to worry about them.” I chuckled. Of course, Seth would have a tree that confused birds, of course! Why wouldn’t he?

terraced gardens and the grape wall

This put us down the path that led to the duck pen which is encircled by gardens of leafy greens. “Ok, you see these greens?” Seth said. “They feed me and the ducks.” He grabbed a quick bunch and took them over to a table that already had a chopping board and a knife. Seth quickly chopped up a gigantic salad, took a mouthful and threw the rest over the fence. “I feed them good duck food and organic greens.” He said as he munched. I was mesmerized by the chocolate-golden colored ducks swarming in front of me. “So, you don’t spray?” I asked. “Nope. I don’t. I think the chemicals they put in our food is what’s killing us.” Seth answered. I nodded in agreement as I looked back at the ducks. “What kind of ducks are these? I’ve never seen them before.” I asked. “They are Golden 300’s. They’re called that because they are supposed to lay 300 eggs a year. Each egg can be 3-4 times the size of a chicken egg too.” Seth answered, I asked if they slow down in the winter and Seth shook his head. “As long as they get 18% protein they’ll lay all year long. Want to collect some eggs?” Seth asked unhinging the gate. I nodded an emphatic yes. Seth showed me around the coop and then to some of the hidden nests throughout the pen to collect the gigantic, fake-looking, white eggs. “This is a really clean pen, Seth. I was always told that ducks were super messy.” Seth chuckled a bit, “Ducks are only messy if you leave open water around them. It’s all about how you keep them.” We stood and watched them run around for a bit before Seth told me he had twelve new ducklings up on the porch. He must have read the sheer excitement on my face because he immediately began to lead me to the back porch. When I climbed the staircase onto the back porch, the view opened up to a beautiful panoramic view of the mountains. “Well, that’s beautiful.” I said pointing out. “Yes, it’s really nice. I sleep outside on the top balcony most nights. Until the wind wakes me up.”

Left to right: Golden 300 ducks, Seth making a salad, and DUCKLINGS!!!

Seth led me over to a big blue container and pointed inside. There were twelve of the cutest fuzzy little ducklings I’ve ever

natural fermented goodness

seen all snuggled together. “AWWWW.” I melted as I reached in to touch one. “One of them almost died. It had a really rough journey,” Seth interjected. He then described the painstaking lengths he went to to revive the little girl. In the corner of the deck, over his shoulder, I saw a smoker. I pointed to it, “So do you smoke the ducks?” “What?” He asked. He turned and saw that I was pointing at the smoker. “Oh no. I’m vegan.” He quickly answered. My expression quickly changed. I don’t know why I’m surprised anymore when people say that, but for some reason Seth completely blindsided me. Seth disappeared inside and came out with a bowl of dried apricots, dates, and pine nuts. “This is what I snack on. The pine nuts I harvest from this property, I get about 25 pounds a year.” He stated. “You collect them and roast them yourself?” I asked. “Oh no. I don’t cook anything.” Seth answered. “Wait…” I interjected. Seth watched me patiently as I added everything up in my head, “So you’re not just vegan you’re a raw foodist.” He nodded. “That’s incredible. Why?” I asked. Seth smiled, quoted Hippocrates, and said in a somber tone, “Let thy food be thy medicine.” Seth then ran me through his long list of medical problems that started with him almost dying at 30. He talked about how one doctor took a huge risk and, off the record, told him to cut out dairy. “I’ve been on a journey since then to heal myself. That’s why I eat raw. That’s why I have my Master Gardener and Master Preserver certifications. That’s why I sell my fermented products at the market. My mission is to educate. You’ve got to continually put something in your stomach every meal to heal yourself.” It turns out, your stomach acid kills most of the natural probiotic so you have to up your intake to gradually replace it. “I only use organic vegetables and pink Himalayan sea salt. No vinegar. If there is vinegar in something it’s dead, not living.”

The view from the back porch and Seth’s stainless steel mason jar handles.

We talked for a long time on the back porch. We discussed living off the land, being self-sufficient, his time in the Army, and life in general. We talked about how our food supply system currently isn’t sustainable and the major changes we see coming. All the while, stopping every so often to look out and drink in the incredible scenery at a mile-high elevation. Sitting there on that porch, I felt incredibly grateful and thankful for all the decisions that lead to me getting involved with the farmers market. I have long been looking for answers to my own health issues and it seems that this job continually puts me in the path of awesome, inspirational, community members that gently lead me to a simpler way of living. Even though I’m slow and still teetering about going full vegan, I think it’s essential to always have conversations which make you evaluate your beliefs. Trust me when I tell you that if anyone can make you question everything, it’s Seth Stinson. I thankfully picked up my bag full of grapes, garlic flowers, and goodies and headed down towards the car. I made Seth take one more picture and then loaded up. As I backed out of the driveway, I kept repeating to myself, “That was so awesome!” and smiled the whole way home. You can support Seth every Saturday at the Downtown Farmers Market at Ancestor Square.

September has brought the love of Fall to the forefront of everyone’s mind. Even at the market, while we are peddling peppers and popcorn on one end, bat ornaments and Fall themed portraits fill the other. Although some people will tell you that pumpkins are the end all be all of Fall, I will argue that nothing signals the change of season more than the luscious apple. This might cause a riot but fresh cider, dunking for apples, and apple pie defined Fall way before the invasion of the Pumpkin Spice Latte. Apples come on right when Fall starts and carry on throughout the season; unlike the ‘orange trash gourd,’ as my husband calls it. So, imagine my overwhelming delight, when Little America Orchard made their triumphant return to the St. George farmers’ market. They are a certified organic orchard from New Harmony. Being that close and that intriguing I basically demanded an interview upon meeting them. As I headed up on Tuesday, the gloomy weather threatened to ruin my trip, but I stayed positive and persevered.

Google Maps fervently tried to convince me to cut through the cemetery to get to Little America Orchard. When I refused, it directed me further down another side street that promptly ended, leaving only an unmarked gravel lane in front of me. I began to drive up it, thinking that the apple tree lined fence was a fortuitous omen. Almost as if Google sensed my thoughts, it gently chimed that this was not the orchard I was looking for and to continue further up the road. Slowly I gained elevation and popped out on the top of the hillside above the surrounding orchards. I gasped. The trail like road had opened up to a 360-degree panoramic view that reminded me of The Lord of The Rings with the Pine Valley Mountains shooting up directly to my left and epic red rock faces protruding in alarming detail to my right. I lifted my foot slowly off my brake and continued to drink in the scenery. As I slowly rolled onto the magnificent 40-acre plot that is Little America Orchard, I found a place to park and lifted myself, and my dropped jaw, out of the car. Tammy Michie opened the house door and called to me smiling. She hurried out to greet me, at which point she motioned to the orchard and said Gary Suppe was just out there picking up apples and would be up in a second. We stood there talking for a minute as we watched the red pickup circle back to the house.

The view off the property

“Man, this is like a story book! Do you just walk out on to your porch and scream ‘YES!’ every morning?”  I looked dumbfounded at Tammy. She laughed, “Pretty much! It’s so beautiful here,” Tammy said motioning to the orchard and house, “but all this is Gary.” The red pickup truck pulled in beside us and Gary stepped out. We walked around the truck to meet him, and as we shook hands he motioned to the full flatbed of ‘ground apples.’ “They’re beautiful,” I said as I started to snap pictures. “Ya, I’ll take these and dump them out back for the deer to eat. We don’t use ground apples ever.” Gary stated. I looked at the apples again, some of them were rotten but most of them looked, for lack of a better word, perfect. My mind then immediately jumped to the delicacy of apple fed venison and had to pull myself back to reality. “Well… what do you want to see?” Gary asked. “Everything.” I quickly responded, “I’m nosey.” He laughed a little and nodded then began walking up to the back building. As we approached some stacked apple boxes and a row of tables with a few scales, Gary began explaining their routine, “This is where we do all our processing. We do everything by hand. We pick the apples, clip them, clean them, sort them, then clean them again, and weigh them.” Because they do everything by hand, they can meet special orders and do custom weights. I peered into the boxes overwhelmed by their blush colored contents, then looked up, “Wait… Just the two of you? Or do you have help?” Without a moments hesitation Gary repeated my statement, “Just the two of us.” I raised my eyebrows and looked back over my shoulder at the 250 apple trees. Gary seemed to read my mind, “It’s hard, you know? You can’t hire people when you don’t know how much you’ll make off the apples.” I asked how long his work days were, and he said during long summer days he’ll go out before the sun and come in after dark.

I turned back and mindlessly reached in the box and grabbed an apple for closer inspection. The skin was so beautiful and

The cider press

perfect I could see little reflections on the surface. “Wow,” I said, “This really is a beautiful apple. Is it waxed or something?” I looked up at Gary. His answer was already waiting for me, “No. I don’t use anything like that on my apples. I mean I could use a wax and still be considered organic, but I won’t. That’s just who I am.” I knew he meant it. This also got us talking about the fact that Little America Orchard is USDA certified Organic. A process that you don’t go through unless you are patient and 100% serious. He walked me through the seemingly endless paperwork, the bi-annual visits from inspectors, and the rigorous testing. “Sometimes I roll my eyes and wonder why I do this,” Gary’s tone suggested he was only half joking.  He quickly pointed to the bushel behind the table and explained that these were the cider apples. “Do you want to see the cider press?” Tammy asked. I nodded emphatically. Gary walked me over to a door that opened onto an industrial stainless-steel wash basin and uncovered a beautiful, massive, old-fashioned cider press. “WOW!” I squealed. “Is it a hand press?” “Yep, like I said we do everything by hand. We’ll probably start doing cider here at the end of the month.” I started to salivate.  I helped him put the cover back on the press, and trailed behind him out the door to join back up with Tammy. We stood out front for a second, when Tammy pointed up the hill and asked if I wanted to see the cooler.

 

Now, obviously, when there is a cooler on an apple farm, it should be no surprise when said cooler is full of apples. I still was surprised. I was even more shocked when Gary pointed out that, “These are only Galas, when the other varieties start coming on, you won’t even be able to walk in here.” I was positively giddy. Even in a cooler, the fresh delicious apple-y scent permeated everything. Not the synthetic Bath and Body nonsense, but the real stuff. My lizard brain was going crazy as Gary closed the massive door. We turned and looked back at the orchard and began to walk down. “So how many other varieties do you have?” I asked. “Gala, Golden Delicious, Fuji, Cameo, Pink Lady, and Braeburn,” Gary answered quickly and precisely and started listing why he chose these five. He also went into detail about their staggered growing seasons. I was struggling to get my chubby fingers to type fast enough on my phone, I made the note to try voice recording from here on out. Gary told me that he had bought the trees out of Washington in ’03 and as part of the ‘Certified Organic’ process, he had to have them inspected upon purchase. “Wait, I thought you said you started in ’09?” I stopped. “That’s the first year we got fruit off the trees. That’s the first year we certified the fruit. The process started way before that.” I was beginning to see the true scope of the never-ending paperwork Gary had mentioned. “You said this was a childhood dream, did you grow up around apples?” I asked. Gary then described growing up in upstate New York and every October visiting the orchards: doing the U-picks, drinking cider, and being swept up in the spirit of apple season. It wasn’t hard to imagine the magic of those apple orchards when I looked across at Gary’s own little apple filled paradise.

The boxes of beautiful Galas, Gary and Tammy outside the cooler.

As the three of us stepped across the threshold into the orchards, the thought crossed my mind that this was probably hands down the most beautiful orchard in Utah. Gary spaced the trees farther apart than average (13 ft. to be exact) to help mitigate the spread of disease. Dark, lush rows of clover run under the trees to, “Fixate nitrogen into the soil for the trees.” Gary said while reaching up to grab an apple. “Let me show you this one. It’s been so incredibly dry this year that the grasshoppers have cleaned the leaves off of all these trees.” Gary mumbled, in between bites of his apple. “See watch, he knows everything about these trees. He’s out here all the time.” Tammy whispers and nods supportively.  I laughed, recognizing this mindset anywhere. It’s something that only happens when you work the same piece of land over and over. It becomes a family member. You do everything in your power to help it succeed and love it even when it’s being difficult. It’s absolutely beautiful to see this connection first hand. Gary finally made it to the row of grasshopper vandalized trees and showed me the raw exposed branches. He then pointed to a few stray apples on the ground. “My chore today is to clear the ground so the rabbits and ants don’t come in.” He joked finishing his apple. “So, a lot of what you do as an Organic grower is proactive.” I commented. “EXACTLY!” Gary answered, “I do everything I can to stop the problem before it starts, because the stuff I spray with every 10 or 15 days you can pretty much eat.” We walked through row after beautiful row. The fruit ranging in color from blush to gold to green to pink against the gray skies. Gary pointed out the different shades, saying things like, “You won’t see that in a chemical apple.” When I asked him to elaborate, he told me about all the different chemicals you can put on a tree not just pesticides. “You know that cooler up there? Big orchards will have a bunch of them. They’ll fill it with apples and put a chemical in there commonly called ‘smart fresh’ seal it up, and as long as it stays sealed those apples will keep for up to two years.” My stomach turned, and I think from the look on my face, Gary could tell he had sold me.

Clockwise from the left: Gary inspecting grasshopper damage, apples, apples , and more APPLES!

We circled back toward the house and Gary mentioned that he had to feed his gigantic Koi fish. “What?” I stopped. “Do you want to feed them?” He asked. “Yes, yes I do.” We walked around the deer apples and talked about food and farming. He pointed out neighboring orchards and ponds. We approached the gigantic man-made pond and he whistled for the Koi to come. As he sprinkled the food pellets hundreds of mouths and different patterns emerged out of the water. I laughed and tried to get pictures. “Do you have these for fun?” I chuckled. “No, I sell them too sometimes. Mostly to places in Vegas, but they’re fun.”  He explained sizes to me and patterns and then we walked back toward the house, where Gary disappeared into the orchard again and Tammy took me around the house. While we were standing on the deck, I turned to her and said, “Well what if I never want to leave?” Tammy laughed and understandingly said, “Everyone says that.” I smiled at her and thanked her for sending me off with a few bags of apples. On the way out, I stopped a record breaking five times to take pictures. I smiled all the way home. When I unloaded, I cut up an apple to share with my son and husband. I am not ashamed to admit, that after my first bite I immediately took all the pieces out of their hands and grabbed the plate and ate my apple alone in a corner. They’re that good.

The beautiful orchard

If you would like to get your hands on some apples from Little America Orchard, they will be selling at the Downtown Farmers’ Market at Ancestor square for the rest of the season or you can reach them at littleamericaorchard@hotmail.com or by phone at (435) 414-5554.

Darren Pearce

There is a lot of behind the scenes work that goes into putting on the Farmers’ Market each year. We start cracking away at it in February; sending out emails, marketing, securing permits, and following up with and finding new vendors. From that moment on, all day every day, the phone rings off the hook with people pitching their ideas and products. We read, reread, and re-reread applications to make sure we have a diverse assortment of vendors with new and exciting products. Then we follow up, confirm and begin to set our line-up. That’s how we start the Farmers’ Market. Last March, it seemed every other day I had someone call and sign up to sell micro-greens. I’d write down their names but when I’d go to finalize their commitment they’d disappear off the face of the earth. So, by the time Darren Pearce from Pearce Family Farms called and said he was interested in coming on for the whole season with micro-greens, I was reminded of the poetry of Great White and felt once bitten twice shy. It took less than 10 minutes for me to realize that Darren was the real deal, a concept cemented after seeing his booth at the Farmers’ Market. From the educational handouts, the numerous varieties of micro-greens, to the packaging, it’s clear that Pearce Family Farms is here to stay. Which is one of the main reasons I was so excited to have the opportunity to check out their operation this week.

I pulled up to Darren and Katie Pearce’s beautiful home, rang the doorbell, and was greeted by Darren and a wave of activity. Little kids were running around, Katie had just finished canning peaches, and giggling could be heard everywhere. It seemed like the perfect place to sit down and talk about seriously good food. We planted ourselves in the living room and began at the beginning. Darren started telling me about growing up in a family of avid gardeners. Both grandpas had huge gardens, “My one grandpa was more experimental. He would let things grow wherever, but my Grandpa Pearce… He was methodical.” Darren talked about helping Grandpa Pearce every season and learning great lessons about keeping a perfect garden. That’s when a deep love for growing food started. “I’ve always told Katie that if I could find a way to grow food and make a living at it that I would. So, last year I really started looking into it and here we are.” I asked him how he made the decision to grow micro-greens. Darren replied, “Due diligence.” It started by following homesteaders on YouTube and Instagram, then he fell down a gardening rabbit hole. Darren walked me through his research process of calling restaurants, estimating cost and profit ratios, and analyzing multiple spreadsheets before he committed. I sat there thinking, Grandpa Pearce would be proud.

Left to right: Lovely Radish seedlings, Darren and some of the shelves, and baby Basil.

At this point in the conversation, I revealed how little I knew about micro-greens by asking Darren what the difference was between sprouts and micro-greens. He patiently explained to me that sprouting is done in a cool dark place and is basically the root of the plant. Micro-greens are grown in a soil substrate and is the actual seedling. This distinction is why micro-greens are so healthy for you, they contain all the nutrients from the seed. Darren went on to tell me that he had been eating a micro-green salad every day for a month and the difference in his energy levels and overall health has been dramatic. “The micro-green can be up to 40 times more nutrients than the grown version of the plant.” Darren again started explaining the basic growing process. He then quickly popped out of his seat saying it would be easier to just show me, and I followed him to the grow room. As soon as I stepped over the threshold into the room, I was hit with the overwhelming scent of fresh air as two walls full of green beauties grew silently before me. “WOW! This is awesome.” Katie peeked her head in smiling. “Do you love this?” I asked her, pointing to the plants. She smiled, “Yes I do. I’ll often come stand in here and ask him questions about stuff because I’m just in awe of what he’s doing.” I nodded in agreement. Awe is exactly what I felt.

Darren quickly began talking me through his growing schedule. He mixes the growing substrate himself out of coco core and perlite, then each tray is sprinkled with seeds that are so tiny that you can’t believe they grow into anything. Darren then waters them and stacks them to weight the seeds. This simulates the pressure of being buried in dirt. “During this time, I watch them really close because it’s so easy for them to dry out. Once they hit a certain point, I unstack them and then they just grow like normal seedlings.” The trays will sit under the energy conserving LED lights Darren has rigged to every shelf. He described the different lengths of grow cycles and how the main crops are ready in about a week. I asked him if he had any kind of pests or mold issues. Darren shook his head, “Because they grow for such a short period they never have time to develop any bug problems. Everything I do is organic, and I’ve never had mold.” He also explained that after one use, the soil gets composted for use in their home garden. Having fresh soil, each cycle ensures optimal nutrition and eliminates the possibility of contamination. Darren then started pointing out the different stages between the crops. He plants two cycles a week: one for his restaurant orders and one for the farmers’ market.

seedlings stretching towards the light and tiny seeds.

Darren started praising each micro-green and their appeal to the chefs: Arugula added a nice spice, Radish was a beautiful pop of purple, the Wellness Mix made a well-rounded salad. I couldn’t help but agree mesmerized by the undulating sea of purple at eye level. I made a mental note to buy Radish this Saturday. As we gently poked some sunflower seed shells off the top of the seedlings, I asked what the next step for Pearce Family Farms was. Darren replied that they were already planning to move the grow room to a bigger space sometime in the next month. Then he started explaining how he wanted to incorporate a home delivery option through nutritionists and health conscious programs. He also talked about expanding his specialty crops for chefs, such as micro Basil and harder to source items. I stood there looking around, feeling a little overwhelmed by the logistics of the operation: the planting schedule, frequent watering, hand trimming the harvest, packaging, and delivering. It would be so easy to miss one step and have it all come to a screeching halt, but then I remembered that being methodical and precise is in Darren’s blood and he’s got everything dialed in perfectly.

Darren Pearce and the micro-greens

Feeling my end-of-the-interview-smile coming on, I thanked Darren and Katie for letting me invade their space for the morning and hurried out the door. Each step I took on my way to my car was accented with a, “Wow.” I know, I know, I work for the Farmers’ Market, I shouldn’t be surprised by people growing things anymore, but there is something so raw and connecting when you watch someone make their passion their life. It’s inspiring when you see someone living in alignment with what they truly want to do. Pearce Family Farms is out there making it happen every day and we are beyond excited to have them as a cornerstone vendor of the market. Pearce Family Farms will be at the Downtown Farmers’ Market every Saturday 9 am- 12. You can follow them on Facebook here or touch base for orders at darren@pearcefamilyfarms.com.

The first time I saw Donny Terpstra unloading his booth at the Farmers’ Market I was in shock, then immediately became suspicious. I thought, there is no way he is growing all of this. The mounds and mounds of fresh, organic, leafy greens and vegetables make Donny’s table look like a set-up from Whole Foods. It’s impressive and delicious. Because of this completely unfounded suspicion, I was relieved by Donny’s cool acceptance to be interviewed. Finally, I was going to get to the bottom of things. The hour drive to Enterprise on Hwy 18 is a slow climb in elevation where the scenery ranges from dramatic red sand to wild green mountain-scapes. After making a few twists and turns through the town I saw a Shoal Creek Berries sign popping out of a wall of trees. I quickly turned right and got about 5 ft into the driveway when I stopped and audibly gasped, “Holy crap”. Shoal Creek Farm is the homestead I’ve dreamed of since a child. Overwhelming amounts of greenery and color protruded from every patch of earth. Beautifully manicured rows of berry bushes wrapped around the house and the flower beds looked like they belonged in a Martha Stewart catalog.

Donny greeted me as I hopped out of my car. “Wow this is beautiful! Is this your place?” I blurted out, ready to dump a thousand questions that were forming in my mind. “Oh no. It’s Darrell’s. Let me get him.” Donny sent his son, who works with him, to go find Darrell Humphrey. Minutes later, he pulled up on a 4-wheeler. I immediately understood why Shoal Creek Berries was the stuff of children’s books. Darrell is the quintessential grandpa figure. A tall, sweet faced, elderly man that welcomed me profusely and launched into stories of the good old days. He told me how the 5-acre farm had been organic since before organic was even a thing. For 10 years he and his wife Karen have worked their land naturally for no other reason than because it was the right thing to do. Darrell apologized for how the farm looked, explaining that this season has been particularly hard because of the heat and the terrifyingly low amount of water. I chortled, which received confused looks. I was struggling to make sense of the statement that the green paradise in front of me was not having a good year. It was here Donny pointed out random, empty garden plots and naming the crops they had lost due to drought. Darrell again reiterated my welcome and left with a statement of full confidence in Donny’s ability to show me around. “He’s the brain child behind the greens anyway,” Darrell stated as he started his 4-wheeler and rode away smiling and waving.

Left to right: Blackberry cuttings, Donny with the seedlings, and ‘the pit’

“Let’s start in the pit.” Donny pointed to the sunken structure to the left of me and I trailed behind him like an excited golden retriever. As I walked down the steps, Donny walked me through the construction of the pit, which made zero sense until I got to the bottom step and looked inside. I started freaking out. The pit is 5 ft deep and the retaining wall around the perimeter, keeping it all from caving in, is made out of old tires. In front of the tires are huge, black barrels of water. The water is heated by solar energy, which keeps the pit warm enough to grow year around. Having the structure half buried makes use of the thermal energy from the Earth, keeping it cool in Summer and warm in Winter. I’d like to say I was a professional and kept it together, but that would be a lie. I was pointing at everything and repeating, “Dude, this is AWESOME.” Donny calmly nodded and agreed, saying it turned out pretty cool. He wasted no time as he guided me through the diverse variety of seedlings and greenery contained in the pit. He pointed to a thick, well used, binder on the table. “This is my planting journal. I’ve had it for the past 5 years. I keep track of everything I ever plant, when they get transplanted, what area they’re in, and how well they do.” My face turned red with embarrassment over the fact that I can’t even keep my mail sorted. I followed him down the rows in awe.

 

I asked Donny why he decided to start an Organic Greens business. “Well I got sick.” Donny shrugged. Looking at me and seeing this answer wasn’t going to stop me from prying, he elaborated. Donny grew up around farming but found his way into concrete work and construction. In his early 30’s he had an accident and when he wasn’t healing right, his normal life got turned upside down. Donny described years of tests, the frustration of not knowing, and mostly the crippling pain. “I was finally diagnosed with a degenerative disease. I moved my family back here to be near my parents while we figured it out. Darrell first hired me as a berry picker but over the years he’s let me take on more and more. Because he knows if I sit still, the disease will put me in a wheel chair.” We stood there quiet for a moment. I was lost in the enormity of the situation, the kindness of strangers, and the literal life that was busting forth out of the ground from such a derailing experience. While I was having an existential crisis, Donny was listing other things to show me, “Let’s go to the greenhouses.” Donny turned on his heals and headed up out of the pit.

clockwise left to right: inside the greenhouses, squash leaves, back lot, and rows of blackberries.

Donny walked me through the next two greenhouses with the same matter-of-fact attitude, while I struggled to keep up. He described building the greenhouses out of electrical conduit and recycled cedar posts. “The first one was a little confusing, but we figured it out. It’s easy once you get it, so you can tell people to come out here and I’ll show them how to do it.” The first greenhouse had rows of chard and huge bunches of kale. Donny explained that they had already cycled through a spinach crop and when they planted a second batch, all the crops would rotate their placement. It was stunning. In the second greenhouse, they were using a method called companion planting. There were long, green rows of tomato plants and each plant was encircled with Romaine, Basil, and Cilantro. Donny mentioned that he sells the Basil to local restaurants and would soon be able to produce 30 lbs a week. To put that in perspective, Basil leaves are as light as a feather. That’s a whole lot of Basil.

 

As we circled the property, every few steps there was another project that solidified Donny’s farming superhero status. We came upon the compost heap. He led me through the huge vermiculture compost tea operation they had. “If I have a plant that is struggling, a few sprays of this on the leaves and boom! It’s fixed.” He described each layer inside the compost bin and how it filters the compost into the most nutrient-dense plant fertilizer known to man. Then he uncovered the top and dug down to show me the worms and their rich, dark castings. Even I knew I was looking at black gold. We rounded the last corner bringing me back to my car. I was about to leave when Donny said, “Want to see the wood fire ovens.” My eyebrows lifted and my head started involuntarily nodding.
I shut my car door, and again hurried to keep up with Donny and his unstoppable go-go pace. A short distance away, we came upon 3 huge, free-standing wood fire ovens. They were built with broken bits of concrete, insulating layers of sand, and layers of handmade adobe. He then started describing all of his favorite recipes and I stood in complete disbelief at the amount of things this guy gets done. I asked if he gets his ideas off of Pinterest. Donny looked at me confused as if I was talking in tongues. I was flushed with the realization that people like Donny didn’t use Pinterest, people like Donny is who Pinterest is based on. After that, looking around the farm, I saw every project I had ever pinned brought to life and I felt a pang of jealousy.

Donny and the wood fire ovens. One has a face because he was bored.

We said goodbye and as I began my journey home I stopped in the driveway, taking in my final breathes on the property and absorbing its beauty one last time. As I drove home I ran through every twist and turn we had taken on the farm; recognizing that every bunch of kale and Swiss Chard was the product of a life’s work, not just an afternoon here and there, but every moment from sun up to sun down. The piles of food on the market table suddenly transformed into bundles of hours and devotion. I understood now why Donny’s displays look outrageous to a normal person, because Donny is not your average farmer. He’s Super Farmer and we are so crazy grateful to have him in our community. Donny Terpstra and Shoal Creek Berries is a corner stone vendor of the Downtown Farers’ Market and can be found there every Saturday 9 am- noon. They also host u-pick berry events in the fall.  You can follow Shoal Creek Berries on Facebook HERE or if you need to place an order you can head over to their website HERE

Katie Beacham and her gigantic Fig

For the past 3 weeks I have had a nasty upper respiratory infection. I know, SUPER glamorous and exactly the correct way to start an article, right? Last week as I walked around the Farmer’s Market, my awesome community of vendors all checked in on me, wished me well, and sent healing vibes. It was great. When I stopped and talked to our local herb lady, Katie Beacham she said, “You know I have something that’ll help you. Let’s meet up this week and I’ll get you some.” Since my antibiotics had failed, I was excited at any prospect of relief and jumped on the offer. I also knew that if I was going out to Katie’s, that she would be my farmer for the week (even though I didn’t tell her that until Tuesday, a few hours before I showed up to interview her). As I was driving out to Katie’s place I was getting more and more excited. Herbalism has been a long-time interest of mine, but I always find it so intimidating. Probably because I assumed it required a 10-year long apprenticeship with a shaman on top of a mountain somewhere. I mean we grow our own cilantro, put lemon balm in our tea, and I never make potatoes without Rosemary but beyond that? Forget it. I pulled up and hoped out of my car.

 

Katie walked out to greet me. Giving into my anticipation, I said “Alright! Show me what you got.” Katie immediately started pointing at little patches of greenery all around me and telling me their names, common uses, and funny folklore. To the left of her front door she pointed out this column of fuzzy, sea foam colored, broad leaves and told me its name (which I wasn’t quick enough to write down). Katie then told me it was more commonly referred to as Cowboy Toilet Paper and laughed. A google search would later reveal it to be Mullein and it has many uses outside of emergency toiletries. I hurried to keep up with her. Plants I wouldn’t have even noticed, Katie pulled leaves off of and would hand it to me to munch. As I ate my deconstructed salad, Katie would tell me the nutritional values and health benefits. One such plant was Purslane, which looks like a weed but has an amazingly high level of Omega 3 fatty acids and a delightful peppery taste. At this point I think she could tell my head was spinning, so she walked me over to the more common culinary herbs. I’ve never been so happy to see Mint in my life. I finally realized that all my basic knowledge was woefully inadequate for the desert shaman Katie Beacham’s beginning field course.

Left to right: A wild paradise on one side of the yard, Katie explaining the plants, and a 4 ft tall Artichoke

 

Throughout our walk, she referenced several times the way her mother and father had the landscape when they were alive. Through a convoluted path of questioning I found out that the property had been acquired by her father long before she could remember. “If you had to guess, would you say the 50s?” I asked. “Oh no, way before that.” Katie answered. She then described her father Don Beacham, who worked for the city of Santa Clara, as a quiet man who believed in conservation. He kept his head down and worked hard. Over time he and his wife Ellen bought patches of land throughout the city to grow on. “They were so wonderful. They kept everything beautiful. I don’t have their green thumb.” Katie said. I laughed thinking it was obviously a joke. Katie also expressed how she thought the goodness of her father had kept the property safe. “There has been times where everything around us has flooded out, but the water never comes near this house,” she said. What a great feeling to have. Since gardening was a family activity, I asked if she had learned about herbs from her mother. “My mother was a great gardener, but I learned a lot on my own. I was really sick a while back and all of the prescription medication they gave me made me sicker. I had to find another way, so I started reading about herbs.” A sentiment I related to so well because that was the exact reason I was even at Katie’s to begin with.

 

Big luscious Rosemary.

After touring her amazing yard, Katie explained she also had a partner she worked with in the neighborhood and that there were a lot more herbs over at Janice Chandler house. The house was only a few blocks away, so we decided to hop in my car and head over. As we drove, Katie pointed out local landmarks and gave me some background information on the town. She walked me through the intricacies of her part of the community like only a true local could. We pulled up to Janice’s and were greeted with amazing beds of herbs in full bloom. It was awesome to see this little industry of herbs was blossoming throughout the community. She walked me through the clusters of plants and patiently answered all my questions. Holy Basil, Curry, Rosemary bushes the size of baby bears. I felt like I was rushing through my 10 year apprenticeship. I fumbled trying to take notes and pictures at the same time. Still struggling not to miss any of the wisdom that Katie was sharing. When we got back to her place, Katie walked me over to a gigantic Fig tree on the edge of an open field. She started pointing out the ripening fruit and told me she was toying with the idea of bringing them to the market. I salivated at the prospect.

 

We turned and looked out at the huge empty side lot and our conversation began to wander. We covered city happenings to corporate mergers. This is how I found out that Katie had refused to sell her lot to a developer who wanted to build condos. When I asked her what her dream for the property was, she said that for years she’s wanted to turn it into a community garden. We walked over to where the neatly tilled rows started, and she pointed out the water line she had running from the irrigation ditch. Katie looked at me, “I just really want people who don’t have the space or access to a garden to have a place to grow. I’d only charge them for the water.” Chills ran down my arms and I immediately envisioned the bustling community garden of the future. It wasn’t hard to get completely swept up in the idea and we began spit balling ideas. Katie talked about dividing the lot into plots. I started listing off people who could help her get it off the ground. Katie pointed out where fruit trees could go. I started listing off the year round activities that could be held there. We sat there for a few magical moments totally entrenched in her dream.

Katie in front of the plot she wants to turn into the community garden and a blooming batch of Curry.

We kept talking it through and the more we did, the more I realized that maybe Katie was the magic and not the idea. I began to see that Katie didn’t just sell at the Farmer’s Market because it was fun. She sells there because it’s what she believes in. Her dream is to stay small, local, and give back. What’s more shaman-esque than that? We walked back up to the car and I was trying to find the words to thank her for all the things she has done for the community and all the things she’s going to do. Instead, I promised I would try to help her figure out how to get her community garden up and running. A promise I intend to keep. If you have any interest in starting a plot out at Katie’s or helping it get off the ground, feel free to email her at kbeacham@q.com or email us at downtownfarmersmarket@yahoo.com and as always, if you need good local herbs you can find her every Saturday at the Downtown Farmer’s Market 9 am- noon.

Steve and Nicole Simmons, the power couple behind Nicole’s Honey

One of the things I’ve truly loved about working with the Farmer’s Market has been the cultivation of community. I get to meet all these wonderful farmers and artisans carving out a life in our neighborhoods and all the families who come out to support them.  I love to hear their stories. It’s a beautiful feeling to have in this day and age, where so many people feel disconnected from each other. It gives me hope. Our farmers this week embody this community spirit. This product is truly a community effort and is bringing people together for the sweet, sometimes savory, magical goodness that is Nicole’s Honey. Nestled in a beautiful little neighborhood in Hurricane is Nicole’s Honey headquarters, which is the beautiful home of Steve and Nicole Simmons. They welcomed me in and we sat down.

 

We started talking about the market, honey, and how it all started back in 2012. Nicole was a school teacher and a janitor at the school was offering beekeeping classes. He convinced Nicole and Steve to take the course. “After the first class I was hooked. I thought they were the coolest, most interesting creatures ever. I mean save the bees and all that,” Steve said laughing. That’s another thing you’ll notice about Steve and Nicole, they’re hilarious and always joking. They got their first hive that season and over the past 6 years have built up to their delicious 80 hive empire. When I asked where all the hives were, Steve replied “Everywhere.” To which Nicole promptly added, “Yes, if we’re driving around and we see a good spot, Steve will knock on their door. He’s not afraid to ask. We mainly trade honey for land use.” A pang of jealousy shot through my stomach. 80 familes are getting a sweet honey deal for helping with this local business. “We’ll do hive splits this year and next and hopefully have 300 hives.” At the mere mention of this, I could no longer hide my excitement. 300 hives!!!

A teaching comb that Steve brought out to show me when I first arrived.

I began asking about breeds. “We have Italians, Cordovan’s, and we’ve started using a Canadian breed Saskatraz. They are all super gentle breeds. Not aggressive at all. You want to go out and work the hive?” Steve threw in casually. Trying to judge if he was serious or teasing, I of course, said yes. Within minutes, we were all suited up and I was getting the run down of all the equipment. I was put in charge of the smoker (well… I held the smoker until Steve needed it). I followed him to their hive and he started explaining to me the basic set up. The bottom chambers are for the queen to lay in and build the hive. There is a little screen called a ‘queen excluder’ to keep her out of the top boxes that are reserved for honey collection. I was overwhelmed with how many working parts there are in a hive. We walked over to a ‘nuke’ hive which means they are just getting established and not yet producing honey. Steve coached me through cracking the lid. I have to say, it made me feel pretty rad. Suddenly, this golden sea of moving insects was exposed, which should have been terrifying, but instead was hypnotizing.  Steve started pulling out the frames and explaining the patterns that were appearing before me.

From left to right: Smoking the hive, bringing out the first frame, and examining the second frame

“See right here? They are just filling this in with the wax for the comb. It takes 7 pounds of nectar to create 1 pound of drawn out wax.” I don’t think Steve could read my shocked expression through my veil. He carefully set the frame aside. “We’ll keep going until we find the queen.” He pulled out the next frame and showed me completely different stages that were happening in front of my face. It was unreal. Every single frame was unique and had a whole different part of the bee’s journey unfolding in front of me. Steve and Nicole walked me through what happens in each stage of the comb cycle and how it effects the health and prosperity of the hive; again, reiterating how much love and attention goes into keeping these high maintenance fuzzy little girls happy and thriving. That’s another thing I learned: hives are not just ruled by a queen, but almost all the inhabitants are female. There are very few male/drone bees. As we were getting deeper into the hive, Steve pointed out the laying patterns of the queen and how productive she was. “This is a good queen. She’s doing everything right.” As we were examining the middle frame, I spotted a huge red dot on the back of a bee. Nicole congratulated me for spotting her first, and I felt like a bee rock star. Steve then explained how they mark the queens to keep track of them. A different color is used each year.  We watched her for a few amazing minutes. Steve was right, she was a good queen.

Try and spot the queen with her big dot.

We reassembled the hive and took off our gear. Steve, Nicole, and I went into their garage where all the processing happens. They have a radial extractor that does 400 revolutions per minute. “Before we had this electric one, I had one that was a hand crank. It sucked.” I laughed, and as they explained the process of hot knifing the comb and spinning out the honey, it didn’t take long to understand how grueling the work would be by hand. “What we’re known for is our creamed honey. No one does it to the extent and quality that we do. It’s a 14-day process of adding crystallized honey and liquid honey at certain temperatures and letting it evolve.” They walked me through the process of achieving there many different flavors. It was mind boggling to think that every jar represented months of bee collecting and weeks of processing. “Oh this is something else we do. Pure comb straight in the jar. We built these custom frames so we can just cut the comb out and drop it in the jar. Completely unprocessed, untouched by human hands.” He handed me a jar and as I examined it I realized that this was probably the closest I’d ever come to holding liquid gold.

from left to right: the radial extractor, the working hive, and raw comb honey.

It was getting late in the evening, so we said our goodbyes and I started my drive back. The whole night kept replaying through my head and it wasn’t hard to see the similarities between the hive of bees and the Farmer’s Market. We are all these individuals going out and harvesting little patches of earth or creating wonderful products, then we bring it to the heart of the city to spread out and share and build our hive. It’s so perfect. It’s almost as perfect as having an amazing evening learning about bees and looking over at the passenger seat and seeing a jar of fresh, sweet, local honey that was gifted to you by an amazing couple. You can grab yourself a jar of the same honey this Saturday at the market. You can also follow Nicole’s Honey on Facebook , or if you’d like to learn more about bees, get your own hive, or order honey during non-market season you can visit Nicole’s Honey here.

Quick back story: nine years ago, my husband and I visited St. George because his band was playing a show at the Ancestor Square Farmer’s Market. As they picked some tunes, I shopped and enjoyed the local scene. I stumbled upon a cheese vendor. Blown away by the product, I bought a huge square of sharp cheddar and when the show ended we went back to our friend’s house. We all stood around this block of orange goodness and devoured it in less then an hour. I, no joke, have made reference to that cheese once a month for the past NINE YEARS, and every time cursing myself for not remembering the brand. This cheese was that good. Fast forward to last April when Utah passed HB 181, a law allowing raw milk to be sold from a refrigerated van, making it possible for Winford Barlow (a.k.a Finney) of Finney Farm to sell at the Farmer’s Market again which I had just joined as management. My excitement about solving my-cheese-that-got-away mystery was more alarming than flattering I’m sure, but I still managed to convince Finney it was safe to take me on a tour of his dairy.

 

The Finney Farm store front against the beautiful scenery.

If you take the UT-59 out of Hurricane you’re in for a glorious drive past Gooseberry Mesa, Apple Valley, and the quiet town of Hildale. It’s a small unassuming town that is slammed up against magnificent red rock faces. In my mind I refer to Hildale as “Tiny Zion.” I followed the little wooden signs promising ‘raw milk’ up a winding back road until I saw the small red store front emblazoned with two gigantic white Fs. I got out of my car and immediately tried to capture the early morning light hitting the gigantic rock face that backs up to the property. When I looked down the dirt road I saw Finney walking up to greet me. He had a big smile on his face and waved. “Isn’t it beautiful?” He pointed up at the mountain. He then began to tell me about all the great hikes up there and how next time I should plan one out. I nodded in agreement still trying to get my bearings. He beckoned me to follow him back down the dirt road. As I trailed after him, I asked why they chose cheese. Finney quickly answered that his wife had always made cheese and she got him into it. They have been in the industry for over 25 years graduating from both the Washington State University and Utah State University Cheesemaking programs.

We came down upon a beautiful red barn that matched the store front we had just left and in front of me were the sweetest Dulce de Leche colored cows I’ve ever seen. Finney started introducing me to the cows telling me their names, their birthdays, when they gave birth, favorite sleeping positions, and where they like to hang out. He would call out a name and a cow would look at him. I was struck by how responsive the cows were to him, they seemed more like gigantic dogs than the angry Black Angus that I grew up with. They are Brown Swiss cows. Finney said they chose that breed because they have high milking yields and they are extremely resistant to heat, which is the deciding factor of day to day life here in the desert. I asked if they used hormones on the cows. He shook his head, “We don’t use anything like that. We have a system. If they need rest, we rotate them out. We keep them healthy and they do just fine.” In a moment of naivety, I thought to myself that this was probably the case for most small, back yard ranches but not serious operations. I was about to learn just how serious of an operation Finney Farm was.

Inside the stainless steel dairy and the list of the registered cow’s names

As we walked through the doors into the big red barn shaped building, I was overwhelmed with all of the stainless steel and the high-tech instruments. Finney explained how the temperature is carefully monitored, how they test daily for bacteria in their state of the art lab on the top floor (they measure 0% bacteria by the way), and how they process 260 gallons of milk a day. “A DAY?!” I asked. Finney nodded. “Everything is processed within 24 hours of milking.” My jaw dropped. He showed me the milking and sanitization processes. He took me outside to their Mozzarella smoker. Picking up on how excited I was getting, Finney showed me their new experimental batches of cheese. He pulled out the most beautiful cheese wheel I had ever seen. It was their new bandaged wrapped English style Cheddar (which means it’s coated in butter before it starts aging). He then pointed out their new feta and sheep milk cheeses. I stood there flabbergasted. “Is this all your storage?” I asked with a hint of jealousy. “Oh no, we have an aging hanger across town. We have about 16 tons aging right now. Most of it over 5 years old.” I started laughing. That means somewhere in the small quaint town of Hildale is hiding 16 tons of some seriously delicious cheese. It brought a whole new kind of treasure hunt to mind.

From left to right: Finney’s famous curd, Finney showing off the English Cheddar, and aging sheep milk cheeses

 

Our tour was wrapping up and we walked back through the building. One of Finney’s daughters was filling frozen yogurt containers. He looked at me, “Do you want a frozen yogurt cone?” With a huge smile, I said yes. He quickly and professionally filled me a waffle cone with the prettiest cream and purple colored yogurt I’d ever seen. He filled one for himself and his son. We walked outside into the

This houses the entire operation and at the top of the white staircase is the only spot you’ll receive cell service on the whole property.

early morning sunlight and ate our frozen yogurt. It was perfect. I trailed behind Finney back up to the store front with a belly full of happiness. He gave me a tour of the store which not only sells all their raw milk products but locally made bread and tortillas. I thought this would be the perfect stop before heading up the canyon for a hike. I bought some sharp cheddar and tortillas and said my goodbyes as I stopped one last time to take in the spectacular view. I left feeling good about being able to bring such an amazing product from such a beautiful place to St. George.

 

Finney Farm will be one of the cornerstone vendors featured every weekend at the Farmer’s Market at Ancestor Square. If you find yourself with a free afternoon and some cheese needs, head out to Hildale for some hiking and visit the Finney Farm store front. You can keep up with Finney’s on Facebook here or visit their homepage here. I would like to point out also that my tour of the farm is a special occurrence, they must protect the biosecurity of the farm so the number of visitors to the animals is limited.

 

Scott Sproul and Mary Matera-Sproul owners, founders, and the farmers of Baker Creek Lavender Farm

  • 4o minutes north bound from St. George on hwy 18 is Baker Reservoir. It’s beautiful and charming. The temperatures are a bit cooler and deciduous trees become more frequently scattered amongst the prickly pear and sage brush.  The reservoir is a gem that boasts no sandy beaches or cliff jumping but is perfect for a quiet getaway. This visit however, I felt a little crazy as we drove around on the winding back roads. Maybe we’re lost, I thought. My GPS had definitely lied to me before. There’s no way we were headed the right way; a sentiment echoed by my husband, who kept saying out loud, “We’re lost.” Finally, we turned up a driveway at Google’s insistence. I picked up the phone to call Scott Sproul, my husband mouthed the word “Lost” again at me. Scott answered upbeat and ready. I described where we were. He coached us down the driveway to the gate. There was Scott, waiting patiently. We had found it. Scott is one half of the incredible couple that has started Baker Creek Lavender Farm.

 

He invited us to ride with him back to the new fields. Excitedly, we piled in and took off. Scott immediately launched in to telling us about the property and what they were doing, stopping every now and then to point out his favorite hiking spots or where the wildlife liked to congregate. The 250+ acre ranch was originally purchased by his grandfather and had been in the family for over 50 years. He described the love and the memories that the whole family had for the land. This is how the agreement was made that each child got 5-6 acres for personal use. While some have built cabins, Mary and Scott went a delightfully different direction. When I asked him why they chose lavender, he credited Mary with the idea. About 5 years ago they stumbled upon a working lavender farm in California while on vacation and the seed was planted. Slowly the research started and a plan was put into place. It was decided that on weekends, when they have a break from their full-time jobs in Vegas, they would head up to the property and build it up piece by piece.

 

The beautiful walkway lined by trees leading to the new rows of lavender. This is one of the 5 varieties the farm is cultivating currently.

We drove along a seemingly endless wall of trees until finally it opened up on a sweet meadow that had been cleared to make way for the budding Lavender farm. We parked and hopped out. The farm is in the very beginning stages right now, but the magic is there already. The goosebumps began to run down my arms.  Scott explained the meticulous and painstaking process of clearing the fields, building the rock walls, measuring the rows, making the drip systems, and dealing with all the many natural occurring nuisances. He talked about how once, after 5 days and some unfortunate drip line clogs they had lost several plants. This can be a hard pill to swallow when Lavender takes 3 years to mature. We started to walk down the beautiful rows containing around 700 plants. They have 5 varietals planted right now. All of them sourced from an organic lavender farm in Palisades, Colorado. They plan on adding 3 more fields and topping out at 15 varieties of Lavender within the next year. Each has their own purpose: one for cooking, one for bouquets, one for oils, and much more.

When I asked about processing all of the different types of Lavender, Scott explained how they plan to do everything right there on the farm giving them complete control of the quality of the product. He also mentioned that they had plans to harvest the other plants on the land too. Offering such oils as Juniper, Snake Weed, and Sage. They are so committed to doing it right, they will be taking

One of the 5 varieties currently out at the farm. Happy and healthy in it’s lovely new home.

several classes in Boulder, Utah on how to sustainably harvest the plants on the property. He kept repeating gently that, “If you do it right, if you take care of the land, it’ll last forever.” It was inspiring to catch this sentiment in the early morning light of late spring.  It was all I could do to stifle giggling with excitement as we followed Scott to a shady spot at the edge of the field. “We call this the tree of life. It’s in our logo. We plan on building a huge deck around it so you can look out on the stream and the fields. Eventually there will be a labyrinth above it.”  We craned our heads upward trying to see the top of the tree. We kept stepping back, I quickly gave up on trying to get it in a single picture frame. My mind wandered to all the dreamy earthy weddings that were bound to take place here.

 

Our time was quickly approaching an end. I had promised when I first contacted them, to take up no more than an hour of Scott and Mary’s precious time in their paradise. I wanted to keep that promise, especially after seeing all the work they had to do. As we started to load back into the side-by-side I was trying to think of a way to stay. It felt refreshing to be in a place that was so well loved. As we rode back, I made a promise I would have to come back when Mary was able to get away from work. As we said goodbye and loaded up the car, I realized how lucky I am to be able to work with these kind of people and bring their stories to the Farmer’s Market. We are so excited to be just a small part in this farm’s story and to be able to watch it from the very beginning. This will be Baker Creek Lavender Farm’s first season at the market, so make sure you stop by and meet them. Also, be sure to follow them on Facebook at Baker Creek Lavender Farm to keep up to date on all the happenings and to schedule your own visit.

Scott with the fields and the lovely ride out.