We first bumped into the Johanson-Goranson family at Sheepscot Valley Children’s House in Wiscasset, in the early ’90s. Our children, along with a gang of other area youngsters, attended pre-school and a couple elementary school years together there. Our daughter Mae, and Carl Johanson, started out around the same time and ironically, ended up together years later at Bennington College in Vermont, in the theatre and acting program.

Over the years we have kept in touch and visited now and then at Goranson farm in Dresden or for occasional glimpses at the Boothbay Farmers Market, which, I’m happy to report, will resume this Thursday, May, 21, starting, usually, at 9 a.m.

I popped over to the farm in Dresden to say hi and make above photo a week or so ago. It had been a while since my last visit. I followed my nose over the Indian Road through Wiscasset, along “the back way” hoping to recall the path and eventually land at my intended destination. I did. Remarkable. No GPS or “recalculating” required. For me, a major accomplishment.

On my way down Route 128 the landscape transforms. Beautiful open fields, freshly plowed, some with the new greens of winter cover crops, border the road. The river lowlands are rich fertile growing plains. And, just as I hit a long straight away, I saw Carl again for the first time in years, directing a team of horses toward some freshly opened grounds. I instantly recognized Carl, reminded of him from years ago. All grown up.

Alittle further along the road I noticed Goran plowing a big field, beautiful brown and rockless. It looked like he had been at it a while, creating long strips of fresh soil far into the distance.

When I finally landed at the Goranson farm store and home place, Jan was darting to and fro, as is her nature. Into the store, out of the store, with workers, petting the dogs, answering her phone, greeting visitors and smiling graciously.

Rob, Jan’s husband, was in one of the barns working on some equipment, keeping the wheels of the farm going and building the next creative project, the list of which never ends. He is a generous powerhouse of industriousness, quietly advancing the cause, a vital cog.

The farm is bursting with crops. I visited with Jan, hardly keeping up, as she closed up the growing houses. Tomato plants that are three feet tall on cords hung from overhead lines loaded with golf ball-sized produce. Greens and seedlings everywhere. A Fed Ex truck arrived with a load of new strawberry plants (at five o’clock), and new customers arrived at the store.

Winter farm shares being collected. I gave up. Twelve hours after wake up, Jan was still zooming. I was worn out after an hour's visit. The farm life requires much energy.