My brother Chuck sent me an invoice for CRP grass and “forbs” to be interseeded on land in Kansas that my sister and I own. I started by glancing at the final cost — not much — and then realized what was being planted. Black-eyed Susans, Prairie Coneflowers, Coreoposis, Gallardia, Partridge Peas, Maximillian Sunflowers, Purple Prairie Clover.

I have to get out to see these fields — more beautiful than tended suburban plots,

Williams Sonoma sells farming

A trend emerges and Williams-Sonoma is right on its heels.  Now farming comes in a box, cute, neat, and callus-free. (Leather gardening gloves, of course). To make it better, or at least fancier, it’s called “Agarian.” Probably the chickens even smell sweet.

A Martha Stewart-style chicken

NEWS FLASH: Chickens are the pet of the decade. Boston suburban officials who a few years ago could not have imagined allowing homeowners to keep chickens in the backyard are finding the debate a hot topic at town meetings and in city halls. City dwellers who are generations away from even touching dirt, not to mention tending barnyard animals, are checking out whether Rhode Island Reds or those cute little hens that lay blue eggs would fit better into their lifestyles. And the public murmuring about the beauty of an egg laid yards away from the frying pan has become a roar.

Martha Stewart started it, of course, with her designer hens. And it’s always hens that are coveted — the noisy roosters seem to be beloved only by those hens. Author Susan Orleans pushed it along with her tale of being so besmitten by her flock that she found herself in the veterinarian’s office holding an ailing feathered friend on her lap. Now it’s so fashionable that not having a flock is becoming a social embarrassment.

It’s time for full disclosure. I grew up around chickens. My grandmother who lived next door kept a flock, and most of her neighbors did, too. Everyone had relatives a few miles out of our tiny village who brought in eggs. I gathered eggs when I visited my cousin Susan at her farm. Chickens regularly had their necks wrung for Sunday dinner, an event that modern hen owners would find ghastly. But I wasn’t fond of poultry. Maybe it was my grandmother’s rooster that chased me across the yards when I was barely a toddler. He seemed enormous, and had talons and a beak that kept even the largest house cats at bay. I remember feeling sure that some day that rooster would catch me.

But I’m thinking that I might have to reconsider my hen-phobia, or give up my foodie credentials. Can a childhood fear of feathers and beaks be overcome? Can I learn to love the clucks as well as the eggs? Can I, figuratively, cross the road to meet the chickens?

Tomatillo

There’s no doubt that guacamole is popular. But there’s also no doubt that it can be watery, off-tasting and dull unless it’s been carefully handmade almost minutes before it’s consumed.

For years, I’ve been making a guacamole that includes tomatillos in the ingredients. I started out making the recipe because I love “Cuisine of the Water Gods,” one of my all-time favorite cookbooks. What I discovered was that this generously-proportioned guacamole with three avocados, plenty of serrano chiles, and 10 raw tomatillos didn’t separate, become bland, or discolored. In fact, I could take it to a party an hour or even two later and it was still vibrantly green and delicious.

Added as an accompaniment to Pinotepa-style Empanadas Stuffed with Shrimp, there’s no explanation given by author Patricia Quintana, but I theorize that the texture and acidity of the tomatillos (also called Mexican ground tomatoes) gives this guacamole its staying power. It’s great for chips, veggies, or for another Quintana recipe I love Tuna Taquitos.  Bring it to a party — it’ll be the star.

Guacamole with tomatillos

3 ripe avocados, peeled and roughly chopped                      2 medium garlic cloves, peeled, chopped

4-8 fresh serrano chilis, roughly chopped                              1/2 medium onion, roughly chopped

10 tomatillos, husked and roughly chopped                       Juice of 2 limes

1 1/2 tablespoons chopped cilantro or mint                        Salt to taste

Put all ingredients in food processor. Pulse until just slightly chunky. Add salt to taste. Refrigerate until using.

News came via email today that the Food Project, the Lincoln-based outfit that teaches disadvantaged youth in Lynn, Dorchester, and elsewhere how to grow vegetables and eat better, has been hit by the potato (and tomato) blight sweeping the Northeast. Most of us might know the Food Project from stands at local farmers’ markets. The market sales help support the program and give youth a connection between food and serving the public.

We’ve gotten complacent about our food, even the wonderful fresh produce at farmers’ markets. I hear people  complaining about prices,  taking for granted how difficult it is to farm, locally, sustainably. A disaster like this — only a few hundred of the 5,000 tomatoes expected will be sold this season — shows that growing food — and feeding people — is always a fragile enterprise.

The Food Project plans to grow more broccoli and carrots to compensate somewhat for its most popular crop. Buy those, I say. Good for you, good for them.

This happens in every gardener’s life. By this, I mean those of us who are amateurs, not real farmers. For them, there is no dilemma — nature rules, you never leave, life is dirt, literally.

But for those of us who, with much dedication, over long years, tend a plot in our yard and bring in edible crops, there’s always the dilemma of summer. The vacation, the family obligation, the weekend away. It’s always the wrong time. This year, I’ve got my usual family duty of going to Kansas in late July. And it’s always when the green beans come in strong. Sometimes it’s the second crop. This year, because of cold and rain, it’s the first. If you don’t get those beans off the vines, you don’t get a second crop. I’m trying to keep on top of it, but I leave on Thursday. If anyone out there wants to come pick a very small plot of really lovely French filet beans, email me. They’re never as good as the first crop!