Issue 2:1 | Excerpt
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Berry True Chocolate
A visit to Lillie Belle Farms in Jacskonville, Oregon
It’s a mild, clear morning in the quiet outskirts of Medford, Oregon
and I’m racing down a windy two-lane road in a maroon Honda
CR-V. I try and focus on the beautiful spring-colored pear
orchards just outside my half-open window, but the large guy in
the purple tie-dye T-shirt and brown cargo shorts driving the jeep
is making me nervous. From the moment I got in the car he's been
talking non-stop with both hands, his long, brown hair whipping
around in the wind. With a pair of black wrap-around sunglasses
covering his eyes, I have no way to tell if he’s even watching the
road.
“Hang on,” he says, cutting himself off mid-sentence as he
steers the truck sharply to the left and into a small, deserted
parking lot. Rows of white, non-descript warehouses, each with
their own placards listing various businesses, stretch out into
several directions. As we reach the end of the driveway, he jerks
to a stop. “Here we are,” he says jumping out. I lean forward in
my seat and look up at the garage shutters in front of me. >>>
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Berry True Chocolate
A visit to Lillie Belle Farms in Jacskonville, Oregon
It’s a mild, clear morning in the quiet outskirts of Medford, Oregon
and I’m racing down a windy two-lane road in a maroon Honda
CR-V. I try and focus on the beautiful spring-colored pear
orchards just outside my half-open window, but the large guy in
the purple tie-dye T-shirt and brown cargo shorts driving the jeep
is making me nervous. From the moment I got in the car he's been
talking non-stop with both hands, his long, brown hair whipping
around in the wind. With a pair of black wrap-around sunglasses
covering his eyes, I have no way to tell if he’s even watching the
road.
“Hang on,” he says, cutting himself off mid-sentence as he
steers the truck sharply to the left and into a small, deserted
parking lot. Rows of white, non-descript warehouses, each with
their own placards listing various businesses, stretch out into
several directions. As we reach the end of the driveway, he jerks
to a stop. “Here we are,” he says jumping out. I lean forward in
my seat and look up at the garage shutters in front of me. >>>
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
| ||||||||||
© Six Peaks Media Group | Privacy Policy | Terms of Service | Copyright and Designated Agent
