Courtesy of The Haystack Needle Online

It was mid fall—right at the peak of harvest. As we stepped out of the car at W. Rogowski Farm, my senses were overwhelmed. Scents of lemon grass and basil caught in the breeze tugged us in one direction to the fields where we were encouraged to harvest as many herbs as we could handle.  A skillet crackled where a cooking demonstration was taking place. Warm quinoa salad with bacon and kale. It was the first time I tried quinoa and was instantly in love (though it might have had something to do with the bacon). Over in the barn, fresh laid eggs were being cracked and whisked into fluffy omelets, as satisfied breakfast diners watched on. Heaps of pumpkins, all sizes and shapes, piled high in front of the parking lot. It was then that I noticed them. Hiding behind the sea of orange was a smaller collection of ghost white pumpkins.

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