In the middle of winter, it is pitch dark when Jan Goranson wakes at five to begin her day.  In the kitchen of the Dresden farmhouse that Jan’s family has called home for more than 60 years, she puts the kettle on and settles down for a few moments of quiet in the predawn hours.  Lila, the Australian Shepherd who is never far from Jan’s side, curls up at her feet.  Kitten mewls against her legs, demanding breakfast. In Sweden, this early hour is known as “Gokotta” and Jan holds onto the tradition, especially in the coldest months. “Winter is a time to take a deep breath,” she tells me.  But there’s much to do.  While she has a few moments alone, Jan reviews CSA orders, makes plans for the weekend markets, and corresponds with customers of Goranson Farm, which Jan now runs with her husband Rob and their sons, Carl and Goran. 

Soon enough, a thin line of daylight will peek over the stand of trees at the far side of the field. Headlights from Carl’s Tacoma truck or Goran’s old Chevy will cast a soft glow across the kitchen window as they arrive from their respective homes.  It is a cold, clear morning, with the temperature clinging to 10 degrees.  Jan will fill the bird feeders as she heads out to join the early arrivers.  Together they will walk to the lower barn for Morning Meeting, greeting members of the team who will labor side by side, in any weather, to see the crops through the cycle of planting, harvesting, storing, and preparing for market. 

While the temperature in the lower barn likely will not rise above 50 degrees today, and the tunnel where greens are growing will depend on a bit of sunlight to make picking possible, the team will layer up for the tasks before them.  “We all like wearing wool sweaters and wool socks,” Jan says, which seems like it should go without saying.  This is not work for the faint of heart, but over time, the Goransons have found and mentored likeminded people who share a passion for organic farming in Midcoast Maine.  Not only when the field is filled with wildflowers, but also on days like this.  There is a sense of community, of family, that bonds them together.  By Thursday they will be ready with flip tops of freshly washed spinach, lettuce, arugula, Asian greens and kale to box for the winter weekend farmers markets.  There will be a bounty of root vegetables from cold storage, including parsnips, carrots, leeks and radishes.  And there will be potatoes. 

Potato farming is firmly planted in the history of Goranson Farm and has been steadfastly cultivated, honoring and refining a family tradition over generations.  It begins with Jan’s great grandparents, who were potato farmers in Sweden before moving in the 1800s to Aroostook County — New Sweden — on the Canadian border.  The soil in the woods of Northern Maine was well drained and fertile, and the cool northern climate, while windswept and isolated, was hospitable to dirt farming.  The art of producing a successful crop in challenging conditions was passed from one generation to the next, with children excused from school for Harvest Break to work alongside their parents in the fields.  Conversations in town were one of two kinds — ruminations on the past season or prognostications about the next. 

By the time Jan’s father Everett was working the land in the late 1950s, potato farming in Aroostook County was under assault from pests and disease, a short growing season, the rising cost of transport, and market fluctuations.  Everett had had enough of subsistence farming.  At the suggestion of a friend, he moved the family to Gardiner, Maine and rented land in neighboring Dresden with the plan to farm it.  The Dresden property had been a summer home in the 1800s, but by the time it came into the Goransons’ hands, the building was falling down and the land overtaken by scrubby brush.   

Jan was born in 1960, the third and youngest child.  While her siblings went off to school with their mother (a teacher’s aid), Jan stayed home with her father.  While he went about the business of fixing and farming, Jan spent her days in the fields unsupervised, steering clear of the wheels of farm machinery and snacking freely on the offerings of the land.  During the harvest, Jan followed the harvester, picking up the small potatoes that had been left behind.  In the evenings and on weekends, she would help sort and bag potatoes. 

But Jan had aspirations beyond Maine.  She was the first of her family to attend college and, with her degree in Environmental Science from Middlebury College in hand, Jan headed on a great adventure that led her from Vermont to a salmon fishing vessel in Alaska and then to Berkeley, California to join a childhood friend who had moved West.  Together, they explored the city, melding their shared experiences from rural Maine with the exciting food culture that was emerging in California.  As Jan describes it, they had in common “the wonder of watching plants grow to fruition.”  They dug out the back yard of the house they had rented and planted a garden.  They bought food directly from the growers, seeking out farm markets and developing a proficiency with the language of the California farm movement — paying attention to the distinctions between traditionally grown, organically grown, or conventionally grown produce.  They discovered the Berkeley Bowl, a converted bowling alley then emerging as a leading purveyor of organic and natural products.  It was the era of Alice Waters.  When Jan went home to visit her parents, she would stuff her luggage with winter squash to take back to her kitchen in California. 

In 1984, Jan left California and returned to Maine.  Her father had been diagnosed with cancer.  Over the next year, Jan and Everett worked together.  They spent the winter putting up the potato crop.  Somehow they managed to get the Spring planting in.  They tapped maple syrup and took it to the sugar house run by Rob Johanson, who was known for his excellent small batch syrup.  While Jan had new ideas about organic farming from her time in Berkeley — ways to protect the soil, avoid toxic pesticides, and eliminate insecticides that had been killing off bees — their conversations during this time tended more towards other subjects.  When her father died in July, Jan had absorbed all that her father could teach her in their time together.  But there was little time to reflect.  Jan was vested in pulling the crop out in time.  Her brother came to help with the harvest.  It seemed like Rob was around more and more, bringing haying equipment and teaching Jan how to use it.  When Jan and Rob married, no one was surprised. 

Since that time, they have shaped Goranson Farm into something that both honors her roots and taps into a vision for the future of farming in Maine.  Along the way, Jan has built a community that is both sustained by and sustains the farm.  She has nurtured a culture of shared pleasure in eating food that is grown locally, using the highest principles of organic farming.  From her first visit in 1986 to the farm market in Damariscotta, Jan has been at the forefront of the local farmers market movement.  She recalls joining forces early on with John Barnstein and Marge Lupien to persuade Jane Conley to provide space for the weekly market that has since moved to the Town Common. In Portland and Brunswick, she helped extend the community’s access to fresh produce in the winter months.  Customers gather weekly at the markets to catch up and to share ideas for growing and using seasonal vegetables and produce.  On weekends, the farm’s CSA members come from all directions to pick up fresh produce — they are voracious readers of “The Farm Letter,” equal parts educational and inspirational on the topic of the contents of each box.  The farm stand on the Goranson property is open year round on an honor system, offering the farm’s bounty along with local raw milk, meat, cheese, eggs and honey to the local community.  A Facebook page feeds the inquisitive, often describing the science behind the food we are bringing to our tables.  (Read the comments section and you will quickly understand the complexities of the potato — how to use the Kennebeck potato, why red-skinned potatoes are better for home fries, or when those tiny new potatoes known as creamers will be in season.)  Local businesses — including Rising Tide, Bath Natural Market, and Rosemont Market — carry the farm’s produce.  Local restaurants serve it — The Whales Tale, River House, Bred in the Bone, and the cafe at the Boothbay Botanical Gardens, to name a few.  Goranson Farm, in the small village of Dresden, has expansive roots in Midcoast Maine. 

By 3:30 on this particular afternoon, as the cold settles back in and the light slips away, the team will finish up, heading home to walk their dogs and prepare the evening meal.  As for me, newly awakened this winter to the poetry of the potato, I find myself at the stove making potato pancakes for every occasion.  Call them what you want — Sunday morning hash browns, Hanukkah latkes, New Years Eve flapjacks (when caviar and sour cream elevate them to a real celebration).  Whenever possible, we stand at the stove, eating them straight from the cast iron skillet and licking the salt from our fingers.

Potato Pancakes 

Peel and grate two large Russet potatoes and one large onion.  Mix together along with two large eggs, 1/2 cup flour, and a teaspoon of baking powder.  Salt and pepper generously.  Heat half an inch of oil in a cast iron skillet.  Drop batter in tablespoons into the hot pan and flatten each pancake slightly, working in batches.  Cook on both sides to a golden brown.  Remove to a paper towel.  These are best eaten warm, adorned only with a little salt.