Just after settling into our Euro-rustic guest tent at Kinnikinnick Farm, our family gathered around a wooden table as our host, Susan Cleverdon, delivered dinner. Asparagus, fresh from the field, was ready to be steamed. Tender baby greens awaited homemade vinaigrette. And in the center, a golden roast chicken, also raised at Kinnikinnick. "This chicken lived and died right here," Susan said, putting her basket down with a thump.
Outside, chickens clucked contentedly.
"Errr, or not died here," she backtracked, "but, you know, lived here!"
Which is why, as we sat down to eat, 5-year-old Thomas, grim as a prosecutor, asked, "Did Susan...