LETTER FROM THE EDITOR
WHEN I WAS growing up, I often spent a couple of weeks during the summer with my grandparents, who lived in a small New England town with white clapboard houses and old brick civic buildings and a beautiful little Carnegie library, where my grandmother was head librarian. They both grew up in remote rural areas, farm kids, so they ate seasonally and locally as a matter of habit and necessity, not as a matter of choice. Berries came around in the summer, and if you didn’t have the foresight to put them in jars or freeze them, those were the only berries you’d see all year. Gram would sometimes take us into the woods to pick raspberries, blackberries, and blueberries. She’d tell us it was for fun, which it was,…