John Adams did it. So did Eleanor Roosevelt. I'm talking about gardening on the White House lawn. It's been a while -- since World World II -- since the idea has borne edible fruit; however, Chez Panisse and Edible Schoolyard founder Alice Waters has been pushing the idea of a White House vegetable garden since 2000, when Bill Clinton was in office.

The Whofarm guys: Daniel Bowman Simon and Casey Gustowarow. (Courtesy flickr/photo_nola)

Flash forward eight years, and Waters now has company, with Eat the View and The White House Organic Farm Project (aka The Who Farm), two separate efforts with a similar mission -- urging the next president to start growing his own food.

Eat the View is the brainchild of Roger Doiron, the force behind Kitchen Gardeners International, an online community for gardeners around the world. Doiron, who lives (and has a 1/3 acre-garden) in Scarborough, Maine, began pitching his idea -- Eat the View -- of a White House organic garden on On Day One, an online forum with user-generated politically-focused ideas and proposals. Now, Eat the View has its own Web site with an online petition to be presented to the next president-elect. You can also follow Doiron's efforts on Twitter.

Doiron has also produced a video explaining his cause:

Similar in mission but different in approach is how I'd describe The Whofarm Project, a collaboration of Daniel Bowman Simon and his best friend Casey Gustowarow, two twenty-something guys (and former Peace Corps buddies) who have taken their message on the road in their double-decker school bus. Simon and Gustowarow drove their bus (equipped with a roof-top garden) from New York City to San Francisco to make it in time for Slow Food Nation and spread word of their efforts. Like Doiron, the Whofarm guys have an online petition that they like the world to sign and put on the desk of the next commander in chief. For the return trip to New York, their plan is to drive at a more leisurely pace, making a case for presidential gardening.

What's your take? Should there be an edible garden at the White House? And which candidate, if any, would be the most likely to start digging in the dirt? Take the poll below and weigh in:

Like a really good lunch buffet, Slow Food Nation was enormous, a feast for the eyes, belly and mind. The four-day event in San Francisco drew a crowd of 60,000 over Labor Day weekend, according to organizers, who are calling it the largest celebration of food in America. It was also a first for parent organization Slow Food USA, the North American arm of the international Slow Food movement.

The entryway for Slow Food Nation, with San Francisco's City Hall in the background. (Kim O'Donnel)

The choices for what to see, taste, hear and discuss were many and varied, and my biggest challenge was in deciding what to do first. There were lectures with star-studded panels, smaller workshops with artisans and activists, a farmers' market, Victory garden and open-air food court, book signings, film screenings, a rock concert and a "Taste Pavilion," an indoor regional/artisanal foods expo.

As a member of the press, I cobbled together my wish list without worrying about what such an event-filled weekend would cost. The final tally of three lectures and an evening at the Taste Pavilion was $130, excluding the cost of eating lunch at the free and open-to-the-public marketplace at the Civic Center Plaza. (One blogger noted that she paid $6 for two peaches.) Had I attended as a paying member of the public, I would have probably narrowed my choices.

The cost of gastro-enlightenment and inspiration, unfortunately, is beyond the reach of most Americans trying to put food on the table -- slow, fast or a combination thereof.

SFN's Taste Pavilion. (Kim O'Donnel)

Ticket costs aside, SFN accomplished many things -- it got people talking, it got people excited, and going forward, it's got people thinking -- about what they're putting in their mouths. Mister MA, who joined me on the adventure, remarked how this event, by and large, has made him see and really understand just how intertwined food is with climate change, that it's not a separate issue that can be addressed and discussed independently. More than once I heard journalist Michael Pollan ("The Omnivore's Dilemma") say that there will be no progress in this country with regards to health care, the economy and the oil crisis without including food in the conversation. Food represents about one-fifth of the climate change equation, says Pollan, due to our extreme dependence on oil-based energy.

As much as I loved the Mexican huaraches (black bean-filled masa pouches) and watermelon agua fresca from El Huarache Loco in the open-air food court, I loved even more the tap water stations organized by Food & Water Watch, which served up 1,000 gallons of free filtered tap water each day of the event, eliminating the need for an estimated 100,000 plastic water bottles

As much as I loved the spectacular eye candy of the 50,000-square-foot Taste Pavilion, which served up food and nectars of the gods, I loved even more hearing New Delhi-based environmental activist Vandana Shiva declare that "We need every one of us to be the Rosa Parks of food" and author/academic Raj Patel argue that "We grow food not to eat it -- but to set it on fire" (referring to crops grown for ethanol). Patel also reminded the audience that one of every five calories eaten on earth is rice, the cost of which continues to soar.

I loved when Slow Food founder Carlo Petrini asked why food was excluded from Democratic presidential candidate Barack Obama's nomination speech, urging that "food must regain the importance of being part of modern American discourse."

And I'm grateful for the opportunity to get an early look at Food, Inc., a powerful new documentary (premiering this week at Toronto Film Festival) about the industrialization of the food system, including montages about Monsanto's control of U.S. corn and soybean crops (70 and 90 percent respectively, according to the film) and Stoneyfield Farm yogurt's relationship with Wal-Mart.

Going forward, I'd like to see some representation of fruits and vegetables at the Taste Pavilion, more options for vegetarians and more of a visible presence of school groups, seniors and lower-income communities who otherwise would not be able to afford the cost of a ticket, let alone a Mexican huarache. But I'd reckon, after all the plates and cups are composted and the Victory Garden is harvested, this newborn nation is poised for greatness.

The Post's Jane Black has more SFN coverage.

I found Meghan Gordon on Twitter, where she's been posting Hurricane Gustav tweets from New Orleans. On Twitter, Gordon is known as "Sazerac Attack," the same name of her blog, a collection of random thoughts about the town she's been calling home for the past five years. When she isn't tweeting,Gordon, who grew up in Texas, is reporting for The Times-Picayune, covering politics in New Orleans's West Bank, where she lives.

I caught up with her via e-mail yesterday, just hours after the storm had passed.

How did you prepare for the storm in the way of food and drink?

Food and drink are typically low on the list when it comes to stocking the hurricane supply chest. I hit the grocery before hysteria starts to build to avoid insane lines and fill a cart with snacks that don't require heating or utensils, bottled water and caffeine of some sort. Coffee is a requirement, so I snagged some of those canned Starbucks espresso drinks just in case I couldn't scare up real coffee. I don't try to eat healthy because I know I won't have time. Peanut butter or cheese crackers can get you a long way.

Did you hole up in your house or move to another location?

I arranged last week to stay with government officials in Gretna (also on the West Bank). Two other reporters and an editor moved into our hurricane pad Sunday night. The digs were incredibly posh -- a jury room inside a courthouse that had comfy chairs, big-screen TVs, a coffee maker, microwave, high-speed Internet connections and desks. We learned that it was too good to be true late that night when we looked up while busily blogging to see dozens of drainage workers streaming in with cots and bedding. Our quiet, spacious workspace became cramped and distracting.

Both Algiers Point, where I live, and Gretna are on the West Bank, which looked like it might be ground zero for Gustav. I would not have stayed in a house, considering the track and intensity that was predicted Saturday night and Sunday morning. Hurricanes can make pretty incredible sounds for hours on end, which would have unnerved me, if the thought of a roof being damaged wasn't enough.

What did you take with you for fear of never seeing it again?

Nothing other than what I needed to do my job. The only thing I stowed up high for Gustav was my desktop computer, just in case. Algiers Point would have been the very last place to flood under the scenario that a huge tidal surge swamped the West Bank. While I knew widespread flooding was possible, I strongly doubted it would get higher than my steps way over in the Point. My landlord reassured me that the bright blue double shotgun has stood since the 1890s, before the Mississippi River that sits a few blocks away at the end of my street had towering levees. Old houses around here were built to stay dry.

Anything food/drink-related of course is most welcome.
I tracked down a mac and cheese MRE to entertain myself during some downtime. They were supplied by a parish contractor and not the Army, so it wasn't in the cool brown pouches that people turned into purses after Katrina. I ate one macaroni noodle but couldn't stomach more.

The first hot meal since Friday was tonight at Coop's Place in the Quarter. They had a pretty full menu, judging on hurricane standards. Our duck quesadillas were served in disposable containers.

Today we turned my house into the (Times-Picayune West Bank) bureau. The day was crazy tracking down other reporters via e-mail and instant messages when cell phones stopped working for a while. Things were flying so fast between possible tornadoes and frustrated evacuees that we only had time to nuke frozen edamame and dump them into a communal bowl next to some whole peanuts.

For a man whose motto is "rebuilding New Orleans --- one plate at a time," leaving behind his beloved city on account of another hurricane must have been incredibly painful for chef Frank Brigtsen.

Chef Frank Brigtsen at the stove in June 2007. (Courtesy Gerald San Jose)

But as Hurricane Gustav inched closer to the Gulf Coast threatening Category 5-like damage rivaling that of Katrina, getting out of hurricane dodge is exactly what Brigtsen, his family and kitchen staff did over the weekend.

Miraculously, I was able to track down this native son of New Orleans just before he and his group of 20 evacuated in the pre-dawn hours of Sunday. Below, our e-mail exchange before and during the storm (and before the power went out in Natchez, Miss.).

As to be expected, Brigtsen is cooking to keep hope alive; I was there last year to hear him utter the following zinger that rings through my consciousness like a mantra: "Food is the greatest medium to share with people -- socially, emotionally and spiritually."

Stay tuned for more notes from the evacuation breadcrumb trail, just as soon as the power resumes in Natchez. And if you've heard from someone on the Gulf Coast, feel free to share those stories in the comments area.

Saturday, Aug. 30

Dear Frank:
Just letting you know that many of us are thinking about New Orleans right now and sending our good vibrations. If you are on safer ground and want to do a Q&A via e-mail about what's happening in NOLA, let me know.
All best,
Kim

Thanks so much, Kim. We all appreciate your thoughtfulness. We are prepped and leaving at 4 a.m. for Natchez, Miss. (about 170 miles northwest of New Orleans). hTough it too may be in somewhat in the path, it is at least further inland.

We thought we had it all figured out. On Tuesday, made hotel reservations in Natchitoches (a historic town in north central Louisiana about 240 miles from New Orleans) for 20 of us. Then the storm starts tracking there. Friend offers a hunting lodge near Natchez that sleeps 20. Cancel hotel rooms. Get the call that the owner of the lodge is using it for HIS evacuation. Managed to squeeze a few of us in neighboring home belonging to Mom of one of our cooks. Whew. This was at five this evening!

Very impressed by planning and prep this week by all federal, state, and regional governments. Outstanding jobs all around. Also the citizens and merchants have been totally ready and taking care of business. Now all we need is a little luck and grace from above.

Will take your number and try to at least text a bit. Thanks for thinking of us, Kim. It means so much.

Best,
Frank

Sunday, Aug. 31

Frank:
Hope you and yours are safe, wherever and whenever you land. Is your group of 20 all from the restaurant? Gosh, there are so many questions I want to ask you.
Kim

Hi Kim,
We are nicely settled into our evacuation spot. One of our cooks, Rose, invited us to stay at her Mom's home in the country near Natchez. We left N.O. this morning just after 4 a.m. and arrived 6 1/2 hours later (average speed in this contraflow was only 20 miles per hour -- ugh). There are eight of us from the restaurant here, and some family, and some dogs and cats. We learned many lessons last time out, and this time, we weren't leaving anybody behind.

We had a good day together, exploring the nearby creek and feasting on leftovers from the restaurant.

Will try and keep in touch.

Frank

P.S. Hunkered down now and keeping an eye on the storm. Praying for the best.

Frank, I'm glad to hear you're all safe. What did you have to do to secure the restaurant? I can't imagine what was going through your mind as you packed up. If there was one dish you'd make over the coming days as you wait things out and wring your hands, what would it be? I am planning to feature your evacuation efforts in my column on Tuesday. Send recipes, stories, random thoughts -- whatever you'd like the world to know.
Good night.
Kim

Monday, Sept. 1

Kim:
Looks like the City is making out all right with Gustav. Saw the overspray at the Industrial canal. Will have to wait out the water rise and see what happens. Talking about opening the river lock on the canal, which should relieve some of that pressure. Hope they can do that.

Our evacuation day was a busy one. Though we started preparations on Tuesday, the last day is the toughest. Boarding up the restaurant, my sister-in-law's house, and my own took half the day, but we left knowing we did all the right things (I hope!). Just had a wonderful breakfast with eggs, biscuits, broiled homegrown tomatoes, pork chops and venison breakfast sausage! Yum.

We still have power here near Natchez and the weather is moderate -- light rain, 20 mile-per-hour winds. I am already anxious to get home, and so is my dog, Daisy. She got in my truck this morning, parked in the shotgun seat, and was ready for the road. Took 30 minutes to get her out and she was NOT happy.

We'll continue monitoring the rising waters at home, as we know it was after the last storm passed that problems occurred. I know our neighbors in Terrebonne (a coastal parish about 70 miles southwest of New Orleans) and to the west took the brunt of this storm and I pray that the damage was not too severe. Again, I have been extremely impressed with the way all of our governmental agencies have worked smartly and with great cooperation. We have more confidence now.

On a sour note, my fish man's home in uptown N.O. was broken into and badly vandalized. Neighbors alerted the police and the thief was apprehended. So it is good that not everyone evacuates. Each time we go through these things, we get smarter. This time, there are many more people with generators in their homes so they can hunker down and ride it out. Contrary to the mayor's comments about this being the "mother of all storms," I have seen many storms like this in my lifetime and if I had been on my own, I might have stayed for this one. But we are all together here in Mississippi, and tonight I am cooking some marinated pork tenderloins and maybe a whole beef tenderloin. I brought some Louisiana popcorn rice and others will provide salad, etc.

Best to all and I will keep in touch.

Frank

Greetings from San Francisco, where I'm attending Slow Food Nation a four-day conference-convention-festival "highlighting the connection between your plate and the planet."

To get you acquainted, here's a little primer on the ABCs of Slow Food:

Slow Food was founded in 1989 by Carlo Petrini, in response to the 1986 opening of a McDonald's in Rome, near the Spanish Steps, the first McDonald's location in Italy. (The movement began with a fledgling group called Arcigola.) Its headquarters are in Bra, Italy, in the Piedmont region.

Worldwide, there are 83,000 members from 131 countries; roughly 20 percent, or 16,000 members, are from the U.S.

Slow Food USA, which is headquartered in Brooklyn, N.Y., was established in 2000. There are roughly 200 chapters (or convivia) in 47 states.

Every two years in the fall, Slow Food International hosts a Salone del Gusto (salon of taste) in Turin, Italy, a celebration of artisan food and culinary traditions from around the world. Since 2004, there has been a coinciding Terra Madre event, with a focus on farmers and sustainable food production. Salone has spawned smaller regional festivals, including SlowFish and SlowCheese.

As part of its Foundation for Biodiversity, Slow Food established an Ark of Taste, an effort to protect raw foodstuffs (like seeds) and culinary traditions (like raw milk cheese) from extinction. In 2004, Petrini founded the University of Gastronomic Sciences, also in Bra.

This weekend's event is the first of its kind and scale for Slow Food USA. The idea for Slow Food Nation was conceived by Alice Waters who opened the world-renowned Chez Panisse restaurant in 1971.

This afternoon, I'm headed to San Francisco, where I'll spend the long holiday weekend attending Slow Food Nation, a four-day mega-event "highlighting the connection between your plate and the planet." Part food and music festival, eco-conference and lecture symposium, product expo and tasting, schmooze-a-thon and gastro-intellectual salon, SFN is the first of its kind for Slow Food USA, the 16,000-member American branch of Slow Food, an international non-profit organization based in Bra, Italy. (Stay tuned for the ABCs of Slow Food in tomorrow's space.)

On the eve of the festivities, I'll arrive just in time for an event that is poised to set the stage for a broader, longer-term conversation after the projected 50,000 foodies have come and gone. Later this afternoon (5 p.m. local time), Slow Food USA, in conjunction with Roots of Change, a Bay Area non-profit consortium, will unveil a Declaration for Healthy Food and Agriculture, in a public reading at San Francisco's City Hall.

You might remember hearing about the 2007 Farm Bill that was stalled in Congress for so long that it ultimately was renamed the 2008 Farm Bill (it finally passed in June, overriding a presidential veto). As I mentioned last summer in this space, the Farm Bill is huge: Worth hundreds of billions of dollars and setting the course for food and agriculture policy in this country, for better or for worse. The bill is an omnibus beast, meaning that it covers food stamps, school lunch programs, low-income nutrition, land conservation, international trade and commodity crops, to name just a few constituencies. Every five years, the food and farm programs are up for review, and inevitably, partisan politicking and deal making ensues, often resulting in prolonged debate and, as we saw this year, stalled passage.

Created in 1933 as the Agricultural Adjustment Act to assist farmers and rural communities, the Farm Bill has largely morphed over the past 30 years into mega-bucks subsidies for commodity crops (think corn, wheat, sugar), with comparatively little assistance for small or non-commodity-crop farms (the stuff you see at your local farmers' market). According to data compiled by Washington public interest and advocacy organization Environmental Working Group, 66 percent of crop subsidy benefits went to just 10 percent of all farmers in the years 2003-2005.

The Declaration for Healthy Food and Agriculture, say organizers, is a direct response to current U.S. farm and food policy: "The earth and people are becoming less healthy as a direct result of current policy; the efforts to solve food and agriculture challenges are not being addressed to the degree required by the scale of the problems; and the last farm bill cycle confirmed that a tight cadre of lobbyists control the debate to protect the status quo rather than aid the population of the nation," writes SFN communications and policy director Naomi Starkman in a press release issued this week.

The current final draft of the Declaration, which includes 12 principles that "should frame food and agriculture policy, to ensure that it will contribute to the health and wealth of the nation and the world," is the collaborative effort of nearly 100 academics, scientists, environmentalists, farmers and labor activists led by Roots of Change president Michael Dimock.

As of this morning, the Declaration is available for online consumption for 90 days, with an invitation to post comments and suggestions which will be considered for the final version. In the fall of 2009, organizers plan to present the Declaration to members of Congress, with the hopes of influencing the next Farm Bill, scheduled for 2012. And no, it's not too early to start talking -- after all, the early bird usually gets the worm.

After you've had a look at the Declaration, tell me what you think: Is this a Declaration worth pursuing or is it a bunch of hot air? Does it have a chance of getting the ear of Congress? What would you add or delete to the current version?

Stay tuned for SFN coverage from the Post's Jane Black, both over the weekend and in the Sept. 3 issue of the Food section. I'll also have a first-hand report on Tuesday, Sept. 2, in this space.

Here in my new casa in my new city on my new coast, I'm feeling a strange mix of excitement and confusion. Although the mailbox tells me "X" marks this spot where KOD now lives, I've been wandering aimlessly from room to room, looking for things that belong together so that I could quickly connect the dots and start calling this place "home."

A slice of home. (Kim O'Donnel)

And of course, the kitchen is where I began this process of making order out of chaos. By Monday night, we readjusted kitchen cabinets to make room for tall bottles of olive oil and put commonly used pantry items and tools within elbow's reach. We chowed down on a quickie wokful of fried rice, one of our favorites, but on this night, my kitchen and I were still getting to know each other, cordial albeit tentative. For Night Two, something cozier was in order, a dish requiring pots and pans, and maybe even some oven time, so that culinary perfumes could permeate throughout the house and I could officially baptize this kitchen and call it my own.

And then you came to the rescue, without even knowing it, as we riffed on lasagna in yesterday's What's Cooking chat. Here in the Emerald City, the sun was out, but the temps were cool enough to have a few simmering pots on the stove, kind of like an early autumn day on the east coast. Lasagna would be perfect, I thought, and I set out for the supermarket (and got lost, of course).

While tending to two pots -- one for the meat sauce, the other for the wilted Swiss chard -- my friend Leslie stopped by to show Ethan, her six-week-old bambino, his Aunty Kim's house. Shortly thereafter, as I layered the lasagna, Mister MA walked in off the bus, and we got to talking about the day. Within an hour, the lasagna was done, enough time for Becki, our new friend and neighbor, to walk over and join us for a glass of wine. As we tucked into our noodle layers, I smiled, certain that tonight's dinner was just the thing to help me find my way, the culinary equivalent of Dorothy's red ruby slippers.

There's-No-Place-Like-Home Lasagna
The components:

1 cup greens-ricotta filling
2 cups marinara sauce, with or without meat
1 pound lasagna noodles, placed in a pan of hot (but not boiling) water to soften
Approximately 1 pound mozzarella for comfy ooze, plus enough grated Parmigiano-Reggiano for garnish

Greens-Ricotta Filling
1 large bunch Swiss chard, arugula or spinach, stemmed, washed and dried thoroughly
3 cloves garlic, thinly sliced
1/2 chile (or to taste), seeded and diced
1-3 tablespoons olive oil
¼ cup pinenuts or walnuts (optional)
salt and pepper to taste
½ cup ricotta cheese, lightly beaten
Salt and pepper to taste

Method
Prepare filling: Chop greens and reserve half. In a large skillet, heat garlic in olive oil for 15 seconds. Add half of the greens, toss with tongs to coat, cover and allow to wilt about two minutes.

Transfer wilted greens to the bowl of a food processor and puree. Add half of the reserved raw greens and blend to combine. Add nuts, if using, and blend until well integrated. Add chiles, salt and pepper. Taste and adjust accordingly. Add 1 tablespoon of oil gradually so that pesto is somewhere between a sauce and a chutney. Scoop pesto out of food processor and measure out 1 cup of pesto to combine with ricotta cheese in a medium mixing bowl.

Marinara Sauce - With Or Without Meat
1 pound ground meat - a combination of beef, pork and/or veal
1 teaspoon salt
3 tablespoons olive oil
1 medium onion, chopped
3-4 garlic cloves, minced
1 carrot, peeled and minced
Sprigs of fresh oregano, thyme and/or rosemary
4-6 ounces red wine of choice (optional)
About 1 quart (32 ounces) tomato puree - if using canned, look for one without salt and
Salt and pepper to taste

Method
Heat a heavy-bottomed pot and add ground meat, allowing it to completely brown, at least five minutes. Add salt and stir. Remove from pot and place in a bowl for later use. (Not using meat? Proceed to next step.)

Add oil and heat, then add onions, garlic and carrot, cooking over medium heat, until softened. Add herbs and wine; cook wine until reduced by half. Stir occasionally to minimize sticking.

Add tomatoes and stir to combine. Bring sauce up to a boil, then reduce heat, so sauce can cook at a simmer. Return meat to pot and stir to combine. Cover pot and cook for up to one hour; remove herb sprigs and add salt and pepper to taste.

In a small saucepan, heat marinara sauce until warm. Season with salt, pepper and herbs, as necessary.

Assemble Lasagna
Preheat oven to 375 degrees.

Spoon enough marinara sauce on bottom of 9x13 dish to cover surface. Place three softened lasagna noodles in dish, side by side, so that they're snug. With a rubber spatula, spread half of the greens-ricotta filling on top of noodles, covering the surface, and add one-fourth of the mozzarella and Parmigiano.

Create a new layer with noodles, and this time, spoon marinara sauce so it covers surface, followed by more cheese.

For the next layer of noodles, add the remaining greens-ricotta filling, then top with both cheeses.

The top layer is 3-4 noodles, covered with marinara sauce and any remaining cheese.

Bake until fork tender and bubby, about one hour. Cut and serve while still hot. Makes 8-10 servings.

Three thousand, seven hundred and two miles, 13 states and 20 days later, I have landed in Seattle, my destination and home to Casa Appetite PacNW. Whew. It's hard to believe I can really put both feet on the ground.

My trip, via magnets. (Kim O'Donnel)

As Mister MA and I zigzagged our way through the Cascade mountain pass and into the Emerald City late Sunday afternoon, we were given a "Welcome Home" downpour so there'd be no confusion about where we were.

Toto, I don't think I'm in Arlington anymore.

The new Casa is charming, but it will take time to figure out where Mister MA has put everything and how to jigsaw the kitchen into a pretty little picture. Ah -- there's the sun!

During the course of my journey, several folks I met asked for my thoughts on the dining scene across America and how I planned my route. Aside from Denver, where I focused solely on restaurants, this trip, by and large, has been about people and terrain rather than about dining rooms. For years, I had spent time only in the big cities of the west and east coasts and had hardly dipped a toe into the interior of this country. It's kind of like eating the crust of the pie and ignoring the filling. It was high time that I eat the whole slice.

Now that the trip is over, I find myself hungry for more American pie. Although happy to have arrived at my destination, there's a part of me jonesing to repack the bags and hit the road again. As physically grueling as the driving can be, the experience of being on the open road is a gift, one we should all give ourselves before we die. I've loved every crumb.

Talk to me today at Noon ET, live from Seattle, for this week's What's Cooking.

Home is where the farmers market is. That's the phrase I kept repeating in my head over the weekend as I wrapped up my 20-day tour across America.

We all have our ways of getting to know an unfamiliar town. Some people go to church, some folks belly up at the neighborhood bar. Me, I head to the farmers market.

Huckleberries in all their wild glory, in Missoula. (Kim O'Donnel)

Although a lovely birthday supper was had Friday night at Scotty's Table in Missoula, Mont., not until I met a huckleberry picker named Laurie at Clark Fork River Market Saturday morning did I feel like I was getting to know Missoula. Laurie works with Triple H Farm in nearby Florence, which sells all kinds of berry jams, eggs and morels (when in season). Here's a snippet from our conversation:

Laurie: That jar of huckleberry jam you're holding -- it was made with huckleberries that were picked yesterday.

KOD: Wow! How long does the season typically last?

Squash blossoms at Clark Fork River Market in Missoula. (Kim O'Donnel)

Laurie: Usually about a month. Yesterday, I almost went to the Idaho border for this batch. This year, the season started late, in early August, but when I was out yesterday I found another patch starting.

KOD: Is it true that huckleberries are wild and that no one has successfully cultivated them?

Laurie: Yes, huckleberries are wild and grow in the mountains. There's been some cultivation, but they just don't taste as good as the wild ones. It takes three, maybe four hours to pick one gallon of huckleberries. That's why they're so expensive (a half-pint costs $5).

KOD: Now that takes dedication!

Laurie: Well, I look at it this way: When I go picking, I get no cell phone service. I get away from the world. I hear the wind blowing. I hear the squirrels talking. It's nice.

*********

Sunday morning, Mister MA and I arrive in eastern Washington, where the terrain is an unexpected mix of arid steppes and lush wine country. We stop off in Yakima, a hub of agricultural activity and home to a vibrant farmers market.

Chile pepper wreaths decorate one producer stand at Yakima Farmers' Market. (Kim O'Donnel)

The producers are a diverse mix that includes Native American, Latino and Japanese. We're treated to a buffet of blueberries, shiro plums, an enormous variety of peppers both sweet and hot (check out the chile wreaths, pictured above), grapes (yes, local grapes!), edible chrysanthemums and nectarines -- for starters.

In Yakima: Learning the fine art of tortilla-turning at a young age. (Kim O'Donnel)

Similar to Missoula, the market here was packed, as if the entire town was out shopping for its weekly goods. I couldn't help but feel like I was right at home.

Good morning from Bozeman, Mont.! I've just been treated to a fabulous daybreak light show, and I couldn't ask for a better way to start my birthday. Yep, this cowgirl has another knot in her lasso, and life keeps getting better. Giddyup!

It is a chilly 45 degrees here, but the forecast is promising temps in the mid-70s. Mister MA and I arrived late yesterday afternoon and holed up at Lehrkind Mansion B&B, the Victorian-style residence of 19th-century Montana brew king Julius Lehrkind. A registered historic property, the mansion was built in 1897 next door to Mr. Lehrkind's Bozeman Lager Beer brewery, the façade of which remains today.

Dusk in Bozeman, Springs, Mont. (Kim O'Donnel)

Before we checked in, we checked out Plonk, an uber-chic wine bar right on Main Street.

We're headed west this morning to Missoula, but here's where you come in: I'm in search of birthday-worthy spots and nibbles between Bozeman and Missoula. Where should this cowgirl blow out her birthday candles? Holler with your ideas.

This weekend, Mister MA and I will peel across Idaho, into eastern Washington and make our way into Seattle by Sunday afternoon. Monday, I'll have a final road trip report with reflections. Have a delicious weekend!