As a newcomer to the world of gardening and farming, last summer was a baptism of fire. I launched myself headfirst into soil by day and the books by night. My hands on education at Thurston Organic Farm included seeding flats, weeding, prepping beds, transplanting, watering, thinning, harvesting, storing, washing and bagging, scatter seeding, and (drumroll) driving the small but mighty Kubota tractor.

Among the highlights were witnessing the progress of vegetables from wee seedlings to full blown vegetables. I also gained an appreciation for veggies that the grocery store just doesn’t deliver: rows of broccoli growing in the soil resembles a mini forest, beet greens are edible and delicious, purple carrots and beans aren’t frankenfoods, and holes in greens don’t necessarily denote disease – a pest has likely munched your lunch.

Sampling, both in the field and in Frances’ fine country kitchen, was another great joy. It wasn’t uncommon for Mike to whip out his Leatherman and slice up a ripe veggie for us to tuck into. I’ve gotta say that I hadn’t experienced genuine gastronomic pleasure until I indulged in veggies I’d taken part in growing. Whether the experience was in the field or at the dinner table with a vintage wine, food that I had a hand in growing just satisfied on a whole new level.

While being on the farm far overshadowed my reading list, juggling both certainly enriched my beginner gardener experience. On Mike’s recommendation I read Eliot Coleman’s ‘The New Organic Grower’ and Mike’s own Tiny Farm Blog, which provides a wealth of information for the aspiring tiny farmer.

I also read most of the articles from a Ryerson graduate studies course in Urban Food Security. There were no test results to display on the fridge, however – my proudest moments were displaying my bounty on the kitchen table for Roddy and the rare visitor (Lindsay is in the boons) to ooo and aah at.

Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstal is a modern pioneer. Not because what he did is novel, but because he exposed his journey to the masses via the telly and inspired me to redefine ‘the good life.’

A five star London chef, he made the bold move of trading in the smog and fog for the greener pastures of Dorset County, where he embarked on living off the land. What unfolds from Hugh’s trials and triumphs on his idyllic small farm can be seen in a slew of BBC series themed around his culinary adventures at River Cottage.

While he’s been scorned by some Brits as selling out as he expands his venture, Hugh’s enthusiasm for local food and culture is unparalleled in the TV world. Not only does he dive right in, often literally, to entertaining food endeavors (curing ham, making alcoholic cider, para gliding for mushrooms, assisting the birth of lambs, bee keeping and clam digging), but he completely assimilates himself in local, seasonal food culture and traditions.

This man is a legend, and he’s only been in the biz for a few years. My ‘real live’ inspiration in market gardening, Mike is not what I expected to find on the only organic farm within the vicinity of the town where I spent last summer. Having played his cards in Manhattan, he cashed in his chips and did a complete one eighty from the dot-com world of magic money, to picking up farming skills and starting a booming two acre organic farm from scratch.

Not only did Mike teach me the basics of growing veggies, he also entertained me, spurred many big picture discussions in the field while sucking on cheap cigars and inspired me with his hands on approach to life.

On the couple of acres he’s cultivated, Mike grows everything on Thurston Organic Farm from purple carrots and neon pumpkins to heirloom tomatoes and the best arugula I’ve ever tasted. He has a loyal following at the local farmer’s market and in a matter of a couple of years has expanded his CSA shares to over 50.

This year Mike is adding chickens to his ever expanding project. I keep telling him that he should farm out west where the growing season is longer but this man is unphased by the bitter Ontario winters – instead of holing up for the cold season he grows seedlings in a warm milkhouse and then transfers them to his greenhouse. With his new brood of hens he might as well be a father… I can’t see him moving his feathered family across the country.

Mike is the real deal. Hearty and self-taught, he tucks into life without expectations and everything comes up roses.

My cousin Tim, whom I looked up to like an older brother when I was wee, led me blindly through many food firsts. My earliest memory, in fact, is a not so fond one of Tim coaxing me to snort pepper while we were watching Dr. Snuggles. Our familial bond is one of extremes of flavour: from sucking on lemon wedges to dawn dimpled yellow smiles, to daring each other to drop chili flakes at Pizza Hut.

Somewhere along the way I picked up a sweeter habit from Tim that I haven’t been able to shake – drinking maple syrup straight from a spoon. Call me a die hard Canuck but I’m a sucker when it comes to anything with sweet, sugary maple syrup, and Granville Island Maple Cream Ale is no exception. Maple and beer is a fine marriage – far tastier than substandard honey lagers.

My love of this beer is actually a match made in heaven – it’s full name is ‘Kitsilano Maple Cream Ale’, none other than my new hood. AND, the hops used for this mouth watering brew are traditional Tettnang hops, a German town I spent three glorious months in during my awkward teens.

I remember drinking beer and coca cola out of a mug big enough to be a pitcher on my first night in Tettnang. Festival was in full swing and the reveling is more striking to me than the hops, but my connection to my new Kits drink is only strengthened by it’s ties to another lovely town I’ve called home.

The label, like all of the microbrewery’s Vancouver neighborhood varieties, dawns a painting of Kits beach, the very place I plan to knock back this beer once the sand is warm between my toes.