Below is an article originally published in the Marcellus Observer, I obtained it from the writer Ann Ferro as it can not be found on the web anywhere. Here is the original article for your reading pleasure…

- When we were kids we celebrated the Fourth of July in the back yard of my grandmother’s bungalow in Carmel. It was a simple affair, casually done around a a pile of stones that served as a fireplace and an old 1935 Ford that died after a trip down from my Aunt Lucy’s who lived in Cocksakie. The black Ford sat there, gathering moss, mold and a hefty collection of spider webs and their ominous architects. My mother had set rows of potted geraniums as guards along each running boards in order to dissuade her curious children from trying to enter the derelict vehicle. How can I say this? OK … You would never find a picture of this yard in any country magazine. I am not saying that back yard was less than chic, but it had a certain Appalachian joie de vivre and we loved it. My mother was less enthusiastic.

We would toast marshmallows, drink home made root beer and watch my father put on a fireworks display with background “music” provided by my mother who was sure that someone was going to lose a body part. Each year we heard stories of someone we knew or someone that she had read about in the Daily News who was disfigured by fireworks, and, if they were lucky, facing life with only one of something that ordinarily came in pairs. I don’t think anyone ever mentioned Thomas Jefferson, although they should have.

This year, after years of not doing too much and thinking about what the anniversary of our country’s Independence means, we will find something more appropriate to do. Given things as they are, this is the year to celebrate some of the good things that we have … like each other, friends and family, a stable internet connection, enough gas to get out to camp and back, etc.We are blessed in this country, despite all of the economic and political problems that face us, despite my increasing ignorance of technology and accompanying increase in chronological if not mental age. There is still room to be who you can be and that’s something that deserves fireworks. We have the ability to create our own successes, our own happiness or own fortunes of whatever coin. We could ask, “What would Thomas Jefferson do?”

In the midst of all of life’s ‘must dos” and “don’t dos, the unplanned delights, things of simple consequence that add the right flavoring to life’s everyday fare are important punctuations in the American story. I am sure that Thomas Jefferson, a man of some saveur, would agree … for a lot of reasons.

Such pondering leads me to my serendipitous discovery of a unique country store less than a mile from our cottage. I brought my daughter there a month ago. We’re going there on the Fourth … just because it is so evocative of what I love about the possibilities of this nation and because it’s fun. Did you know that Thomas Jefferson brought ice cream to the United States, that he cultivated tomatoes when everyone thought they were poisonous?

You know how you go passed places, thinking, “I’ve got to stop there some day.” For several years that was the case with the Borodino Market. It was a tiny farm stand on the opposite side of the road on my way out to camp. Intention was never strong enough to get me to stop, until late last summer. And am I glad that I stopped!

First, there were the heirloom tomatoes. Delicious, succulent tomatoes the way I remembered the ones from my grandmother’s garden, grown from seeds she’d saved year after year. The Borodino tomatoes were laid out on the covered stand next to the road, Rose Hill Road, a few doors down from the Methodist Church. I gathered a bag full and headed for the building that housed the store. Inside, the store, a re-purposed one room schoolhouse, was a complete surprise, an absolute delight.

How to capture in words the ideas of creativity, old style care and foodstuffs that you would only normally find in those small out of the way gourmet specialty shops in large cities? But in Borodino? I was entranced by the beverage dispensers, the old fashioned candies and sodas, the fabulous array of Italian delicacies which, in my mind came to a culmination with the Parmigiano Reggiano butter, yes, you read that correctly, butter, made in the same place as the famous cheese and with the same biting salty flavor. “Just melt it on pasta” was Rebecca Muir’s advice. Rebecca is the proprietor. She and her husband Richard Malcom have worked hard to gather singular foods and gifts from here and there as part of their promotion of the concept of Slow food.

A bottle of Arriabiata sauce was appropriately spicey; the boutique soda a remembrance of my childhood sarsaparilla. I can’t wait to try the watermelon soft drinks and the Fizzy Lizzies. Intriguingly, the Borodino Market, also known as Schoolhouse Farms, stocks flavored salts and a small cachet of smoked salt will soon be part of our grilling lakeside. The precious bag of farro drew raves and no leftovers when cooked as directed. Over in the corner, there is an enticing selection of olive oil soaps from Greece, Italy Turkey and other exotic climes surrounding the Mediterranean. And honey … all kinds of honey, local honey, imported honey … all featuring the different flavors of the flowers on which the bees worked. There are confections, packages of pastas, baking mixes and so much more. My eyes found it hard to track it all. Am I drooling into my computer as I compose this piece?

The Muir-Malcoms are serious about Slow Food, raising their own vegetables with organic sensibilities. The selection of teas, teas to sooth, to energize, to make you appreciate the varieties available for your enjoyment speaks to this ideal. Taking time to enjoy one of the joys of life, good well prepared food is the inspiration for their gathering of local, regional and global examples of the many delights that are in the store.

I have returned many times, bringing friends and family. We’ve learned that the Muirs have gotten their School District #8 building on the national register; that their four children are learning about food, horticulture and its connection to well lived lives every day.

A case in point. I pulled into the store’s driveway early this spring when I joyfully spied the sign advertising heirloom tomato plants. Of course I had thought to purchase seeds for such tomatoes, but, as usual, the thought did not give birth to action. I have a wonderful garden in my mind … the one where Robert Redford comes to visit, if you can imagine. But Bob is occupied elsewhere. Darn! But, fortunately I had a second chance to raise my own tomatoes. As I was getting out of my car, Rebecca’s eldest daughter, who appeared to be about 12, greeted me. Before I could ask any questions, she took me on a verbal tour of the varieties that were for sale and how you plant tomatoes correctly (make sure you plant them up to the first leaves and stake them). I was charmed. How may 12 year old girls know this kind of stuff any more?

No, the market is not one where you buy all of your supplies, it is the place where you find that extra, that something that makes your meals sing, or the place where the perfect gift is waiting. I think of it as serendipity in three dimensions … a place I never expected but am glad to have found.

I fully intend to visit these entrepreneurial Green Foodies on the Fourth to celebrate something that is so intrinsically American. Betcha Thomas Jefferson, another foodie, would have enjoyed a visit.