OUR 2016 CROP OF CERTIFIED ORGANIC HAZELNUTS WILL BE AVAILABLE SOON!
WELCOME TO TRUFFLEBERT FARM
Your Definitive Source
For Certified Organic Hazelnuts
Nestled in the hills outside of Eugene, Oregon, our spring-fed Hazelnut trees currently produce an annual crop of just over 25,000 pounds. The size of our harvests allows us to focus on the overall quality of our product. In fact, we are the Hazelnut provider to premiere restaurants and grocers nationally, in part because of our many BLUE RIBBONS won at the Lane County and Oregon State Fairs.
Our commitment to quality has included good stewardship of the land. The farm is an original Applegate Trail site and, as far as we know, no chemicals have ever been used on the property. Since 1983, when we planted our first orchard, we have always used natural fertilizers and annually worked the leaves, which fall after the harvest, back into the soil. We believe that these practices have actually enhanced both the size and taste of our product...and have protected the environment at the same time.
....Here is a special harvest treat for our followers......
Dispatch from the Farm: Charlie's Golden Moment
by: Renee Corricello
I could see Charlie from the canning kitchen window where I was putting up pears. He was trying to finish haying before the rain which had been predicted for tomorrow. It seemed like he had been haying all summer -- almost every evening after working at the mill.
This summer he was doing it all alone because his dad Charles was very ill. Young Charlie had a late start due to a cold and wet June that had plagued every farmer. Now it was mid-September. It had been a hot summer which was a welcome change from the wet spring. But because he was running all the haying equipment by himself, and acres to cover, he had long ago lost the edge of bringing in new fresh hay that would have given a nutritious boost to his herd of cows. He had been working since July. The hay was now the color of the gold in the fall leaves, turning deeper as the nights became colder, and signifying that autumn and harvest time for our own crop of hazelnuts would soon be upon us.
Everyone else's hay had long since been baled and put in the barn. Charlie was finishing the last of his neighbor's fields. From my window in the late afternoon sun, I could follow the layout of the field along Coyote Creek. I saw that Charlie had found someone to run the baler which he moved through the rows of cut hay with his tractor, making windrows.
Both tractors were moving briskly through the field, at opposite ends, following a pattern, that began at the edge of the field and moved across to the east, turned to follow the creek south and then west along our road and north to complete the square. The vast field's boundaries were now defined. Would they be able to finish before sundown?
I found myself cheering them on as I carefully peeled my pears and placed them in the jars, tucking them in along the contours of the jar in a pattern I remembered my aunt teaching me, as she was taught by my father's mother. I covered them with lightly sweetened syrup, watching them clustered uniformly like alabaster sea shells.
I looked up to find that Charlie had stopped his tractor and was racing across the rows of hay to reach the baler. Was there a breakdown? I watched anxiously. The interruption of the rhythm of their machines was brief. Words were quickly exchanged and back to the tractors they ran. A pattern emerged from the windrows of mown hay. A labyrinth had been created. And as the tractors and baler followed the path to the center, the bales left behind became chess pieces marking their players' moves.
My jars of pears were placed in the canning kettle to be processed. I climbed up the basement stairs to check the time and my list of tasks before our dinner guests arrived. Distracted by my own chores, I didn't return to the pears until time to pull them out of the canning bath. The preserved pears when cooled down would be placed in the pantry next to the applesauce, above the blackberry jam. Caught up in the dinner party preparations, I didn't return to the basement again until I remembered to take the apple and pear peelings out back to scatter at the base of the blueberry bushes. As I lifted the bucket of peelings out of the sink, I looked out the window. The labyrinth had disappeared. In its place were neatly tied packages of hay, silently resting in the lengthening shadow of the day.
Happy 2016 and Continued Blessing