we must dance until we can't

"You look beautiful against the sunset," I said. "Do you mind if I take your picture?"

(I asked her mother, too, don't worry.)

She said, "Picture?" and then began to dance to whatever music was inside her head. Her arms out then close, her little shoes turning, her hair twirling, her red sweater further brightening the sky. She was ebullience and red pepper, a spice of something fine at the end of an unusually fine day.

Yesterday, working through a giant client puzzle and a rapid-fire succession of disappointments, I thought of this child dancing. I stood when I could take it no more. Set out on a walk. Called my father, said hello to neighbors, made my way to Whole Foods, where I conceived of a modest culinary plan.

We are in charge, I remembered again, of our own moods. We must dance until we can't.

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"culinary circus": our trip to bountiful

We have the enormous generosity of the Halloran Family and the ingenuity of Kathy Coffey to thank for one of the most exquisite evenings of our entire lives. For creating a book we loved creating, for working with people from whom we learned and with whom we laughed, we were (there is irony here) given a gift—an afternoon at an Outstanding in the Field event, a back-to-the-earth meal orchestrated by the artist Jim Denevan.

The idea, quoting Devevan, involves "setting a long table on a farm and inviting the public to an open-air feast in celebration of the farmer and the gifts of the land."

The execution—and the weather—were perfection.

Our farm was Blooming Glen, in Perkasie, PA, bursting to eggplant/fennel/heirloom tomato/cabbage/tap-rooted clover/popcorn corn/passion flowers life under the care of the recently organic-certified Tricia Boneman and Tom Murtha. Our chef was Lee Chizmar, of Bolete, in Bethlehem, a much-raved about restaurant (and every rave you've heard has been earned). Our vintner (and, lucky for us, near tablemate) was Richard Blair, of Blair Vineyards, a family enterprise that produces incredibly delicious wines. (Richard also has the great distinction of being another Radnor High alum.) Our friends were and are and will always be John and Andra.

Heirloom tomatoes and mozzarella. Lamb and watermelon and feta. Pork and potatoes/foraged mushrooms/kale. A dessert inside a mason jar that had something to do with squash and cheesecake and everything to do with heaven. Indelible skies. Theatrical sun.

It was as if we'd been transported to a country far away.

I'm back now, but only reluctantly, to tell the tale.

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