You can pick your nose, you can pick your friends, but you can't pick your friend's nose: however you CAN pick rocks out of your friend's onion patch

What else is one to do on a saturday off?
One could stay in, eat pizza and watch a "Ninja Warrior" marathon, OR one could wake up at 7am go to Turkey Hill Farms and volunteer.

By choosing to volunteer, I have to admit that I was lured in by the promise of bacon, sausage and pancakes, all farm fresh.  There's a very small list of things I wouldn't do for the promise of pork products and good pancakes.    After watching a baby chow down on some blueberry compote, and watching a child with a chiquita banana warrior sticker in the middle of his forehead, it was time to do some serious farm work.  My job was designated to picking up all the rocks in a field of rocks, so that we could later plant onions.
I'll admit, at first I was put off by the task, gray skies, a cool breeze, miles and miles of rocks...I started to have images of mother Russia, and me as a babushka saying, "in russia, rocks farm you".

But after half an hour, I got into a rhythm and was thrilled to be outdoors, literally playing in the dirt.  There was something satisfying about plopping down in any old spot and filling up a bucket, sort of like "Blueberries for Sal" but with rocks, not blueberries.
Three and a half hours later, the field was picked, and I was satisfied. And somewhere along the way, I fell in love with food again...

I told you, I'll do anything for the promise of bacon and sausage.