at Hemlock Hill Farm, but none that I could see was a Tsuga.
Hemlock Hill has been in business since 1939, and there was probably a hemlock or two around then. While the farm reigns supreme as the local purveyor of natural Thanksgiving turkeys, there are other reasons to pay a visit when the holidays come.
Why is the day before the event so much sweeter than the event itself? The lull before the storm, the eye of the hurricane, the bated breath before the first kiss. The moment before the bride steps into the aisle. When you’re a kid, the time you get ready before a big dance. Or any dance. Anticipation. It’s also before any family feuds erupt, before anything goes wrong. (Like the time the crisp golden turkey slipped out of our hands onto the kitchen floor at my cousin’s apartment. Whoops!)
Tomorrow is meat, potatoes, stuffing and pie. Today is what takes you there. A crowd at the farm.
A duo belting out Landslide. Pretty well, too. A nice show and the song brings back memories of my daughter’s fourth grade play performance.
Corny decorations. I don’t lean that way at home but I like to see them here.
The farm’s herd, probably some august variety. All I know is that they are very handsome and that I purchase some of their beef in the farm store. Along with the farm’s pork and goat meat.
You used to be able to go back around the barn and see the turkeys that had not yet been slaughtered doing their anxious turkey trot on the sawdust. No longer. Today a sweet-faced Valentina rings up a pre-ordered bird.
And now, do you want to carry that like you hold a baby? she asks.
Yes. Yes to the turkey, to Valentina, to hemlocks and other trees big and small, and to the bated breath that precedes every delicious thing.