In the far corner of the field I see Ben and his girlfriend Ailish, tan before June, at work planting cucumbers beneath a cloud-cluttered sky. Months from now, sweet, crunchy discs of those fresh vegetables will cool salads on warm summer days, but today, the plants are still in their infancy. We talk of the greens Ben grows—less common varieties like puntarelle, Belgian endive, sugarloaf chicory, and shiso. Shoppers unfamiliar with these greens are often given Whatley-approved recipes and cooking tips with their purchases, but local chefs are excited at a glance, and the Whatley Farm stand often inspires the restaurant specials appearing on chalkboards in the nearby town of Brunswick just hours after the market's close. I’ve enjoyed bowlfuls of zesty greens lightly dressed, but it’s different to eat them straight from the gardens. On my visit, Ailish and I invent an unofficial tasting tour for ourselves, wandering around the beds, trying and describing the bold flavors or just enjoying them in silence. Ben’s mom, Laura, is at the edge of the woods with a basket held to her hip, collecting stinging nettles they'll sell at the farmer's market the next day. This is precisely the picture I've come to behold: two generations of Whatleys at work on fields that, before Ben came back home, hadn’t seen much action for decades.