Introducing… Apricot Lane Farms!

Apricot Lane Farms

Last weekend, John and I traveled from our temporary home of Chicago to Moorpark, CA; the first time we’ve gotten to visit Apricot Lane Farms together, since learning that we will definitely be making it our home.  Rachael Ray’s husband once said (and I roughly paraphrase) that nothing feels real until he shares it with Rachael.  I’m sure many couples understand that phenomenon, and since John takes all the pretty pictures, Apricot Lane Farms can finally become real for Organic Spark, too.  I’m so excited to share these pictures with you.  So let’s get on with it!

Standing in a pasture, peeking up the driveway to the main house.

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Navigating the seasons.

Purple Flowers

I learned something recently.

One hot Chicago day after a string of frigid weather landed me with a bad seasonal cold, one that just wouldn’t go away.  After John came down with a variation of it, we decided to go to the doctor to make sure we weren’t passing something back and forth.  Much to the surprise of my stuffed-up nose, I wasn’t actually sick, at least not in the traditional sense.  Here, I had a mean case of seasonal allergies!  What?!  I have never had allergies that involve wheezing, coughing, a brick of a nose and exhaustion, but I think the doc was right because I feel just awful after a nice long springtime walk with Todd these days.  And maybe it’s not a surprise; thinking back over the years, my legs have gotten very itchy at times for seemingly no reason, and the past few days, I have woken up in the middle of the night itching like a mad woman.  Looks like I just might have found the culprit.  Focusing on the connections learned is the only way to restore gratitude, otherwise… I just want to pout.

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All about an egg.

Egg in Nest

It’s Easter!  And a happy one to you.

We’re still temporarily based in Chicago, across the street from my brother Matt, sister-in-law Megan, plus let’s not forget little Sophie, who has everyone she meets, including me, wrapped around her little finger.  Today she came down the stairs in her mommy’s arms, hair still a little damp from a burner of an afternoon nap, and looked right towards my husband before saying, clear as day – “John!

We’re toast.

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The unbelievable.

March 2011_94

Friends, it happened. On May 22, John and I will be moving onto 130-acres of magical land freshly renamed Apricot Lane Farms in Moorpark, CA. A small, welcoming town that sits 50-minutes north of Los Angeles, CA, 25-minutes east of the beaches of Ventura and just over the hill from Burbank, where the major television studios sit in all their powerful glory. The farm contains 80-acres of orchard, currently lemon and avocados, plus 40-acres of horse pasture, which will be converted to raise heritage breed lamb, chickens and pigs.  I stand in awe of the events that have recently unfolded and unending gratitude is the only way I know to begin accepting this huge opportunity.

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Restaurant Review: Alinea (Warning – iPhone pics!)

Screen shot 2011-04-08 at 2.19.57 PM

I had no idea what was coming.  All I knew was… I was late.  Standing in my undies, hair half-dried and make-up questionable, the door rang simultaneously with the phone.  I fumbled with the call box of our new apartment to let my separation-anxiety ridden dog’s “baby-sitter” up, as I answered my brother’s call with a falsely cool, “we’ll be right down!”  I’m amazed nothing was broken as I tore through the house and down the stairs.  I was almost surprised to see my husband sitting next to me in my brother’s new conversion van; he made it, too!  And yes, I said conversion van, circa 2004, very “my brother.”  He makes a nice living for himself, nice enough to treat us all to an amazing evening out at possibly the nicest restaurant in the States, yet he couldn’t give a flip about money, and instead, gets really jazzed about his hand-me-down van, one that allows him to put a mattress in the back for long road trips.  Not to mention, he just got the van that day, so we were driving to Alinea sans license plate.  Maybe the first ever illegal conversion van to pull up to that valet stand, a badge of honor we wore with pride.

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