''Dear Friends,
After 70 years of farming, we are ceasing operation. . . . We have enjoyed being a part of your lives . . . .'' I was staring at the Facebook notice as if doing so would make it not say what it was saying.
Ceasing operation? How could Hilgert's be ceasing operation? Were there distress signals last season that I missed? The fields seemed just as lush; the pick-your-own diehards as determined to find the pick of the crop in acres of vegetables as I'd ever seen them.
Hilgert's vegetable and berry farm and market in Portage County (was it located in Mogadore or Randolph Township? I could never be sure) has been a solid part of my summer and fall these many years. Therapy on the cheap, to be honest.
When spring is nudging up to summer, I know to scroll down my bookmarks to Hilgert's website. I check when the strawberry and raspberry fields will be open for picking. And when to call in an order for sweet, plump blueberries to last until next year's crop. Through the season, until the frosts of fall, I follow their schedule so as not miss out on the beans, the okra, the tomatoes, the peppers, the greens . . . .
And the fleeting friendliness of pickers eager to share their acquired wisdom. There, in the raspberry patch, was a lady crouched low to the ground, her pail full to overflowing: ''The best ones are close to the ground,'' she volunteered at a novice's quizzical look. So I got low to the ground and did as she did.
Over in the tomato rows, a gentleman was ignoring the carpet of red tomatoes and filling his bucket with the hard, green ones. Why, I asked. ''Oh,'' he said, ''you get some good eatin' with these.'' And proceeded to describe how to season and fry them just so. So I picked me a bucket of green ones, too, but never got the hang of frying up some good eatin.'
''We are proud to have served you with quality that kept you returning to us faithfully.''
But there will be no returning this year.
On an endlessly rainy May day, I did what has become a habit and flipped to Hilgert's website. It was getting time to plan therapy sessions out in the open fields, hours when everything else in the world falls away — except the contentment of finding that perfect berry, that slender okro with a clean, sharp snap.
I don't know what it must feel like for the Hilgert family and staff, who worked the earth for so long, to wrap things up. For me, being out there was a refuge, a retreat from the routines and stresses of daily life. The produce I brought home? That was a bonus.
It is hard to say goodbye. Thanks for the gift of a space to restore the spirit.
— LAURA OFOBIKE
Chief editorial writer
