Last week, driving through central Maine along windy back roads, past farm stands and ramshackle barns, I got to thinking about sense of place — what it is that helps us to really feel and know a town, a state, a region. Why is it that when I head up to Maine every couple of months, I feel at home? What memories, knowledge or experiences ground me there?

Not surprisingly, I have found that the answer for me lies in my belly. I come to know a place by eating its food, visiting its farms and talking about recipes and food traditions with its people. In the case of Maine, my explorations are also a way of connecting to my food heritage. For generations my forebears farmed, cooked and ate in Penobscot County, where farms dotted the landscape and vibrant small towns hummed with local industry.

Exploring our nation’s foodways — from the types of vegetables grown in its fields and gardens to the community meals advertised on church billboards and the style of cafes on a town’s Main Street – is the surest way I can see to learn about our country and ourselves. The truth is, we all have to eat, and most of us fill our bellies several times a day. What we choose to eat and where it comes from shapes our lives, and ties us to a place – whether it’s memories of a particular grocery store recalled from our childhood, a farmer we support or a favorite restaurant we frequent.

When I moved to the Hudson Valley, I instinctually began to explore the region through its farms, restaurants and markets, and have come to know it by way of the farmers, purveyors and chefs I have met along the way. As a child in Maine, farmers’ markets and grass-fed beef weren’t quite on my radar, so over the past few years I’ve belatedly begun to explore my home state in the same way. I crave opportunities to head up to the towns where I grew up, and to rural central Maine where my mother was raised. There, the rustic roadside farm stands offer the same fresh, standard offerings each summer that they did during her childhood.

Maine has its vibrant farmers’ markets and top restaurants, but in its small towns, where my heritage lies, there’s a different vibe, one that feels timeless to me. There are fewer farmers’ markets and more farm stands along the side of the road, hand-painted wooden signs alerting you to their presence. The small stands house bins of vegetables, and perhaps some homemade pickles, strawberry jam or bags of dry beans. In July, beet greens, shell peas, wax beans and new potatoes fill the crates and shelves. In August, corn will join the roster, along with carrots and tomatoes. Sometimes there’s a young kid collecting the cash, other times a jar and an honor system.

Often, my mother and I head out on farm explorations together. Along the way I quiz her about her childhood food experiences, family recipes and which relative farmed which plot of land. I cling to the stories she tells of mornings spent munching on toast spread thickly with her ’Auntie’s’ strawberry jam, afternoons passed standing at the stove with her grandmother making caramel or molasses pull taffy, visiting farms with her father and bringing home bushels of cucumbers to slice and serve with vinegar and salt. The recipes my mother remembers are simple, a reflection of a region, a time and a season. Summer nights were spent shelling bowlfuls of peas or snipping wax beans. As a rule, most everything was boiled and served with butter, salt and pepper – corn, peas, beans, and carrots; beet greens received an added drizzle of apple cider vinegar. Now, I prepare some of the same recipes, connecting, in a way, to family members who have passed. And I make my own memories, as I head out on daily expeditions to the countryside or the seacoast.

On one of our last days in Maine, we took a drive out over the Dixmont Hills to the coastal town of Belfast, passing through small town centers and past hand painted signs for new potatoes and peas. Along the way I photographed Grange Halls, some active, some decrepit, and we talked of ways to reinvigorate the 142-year-old organization originally designed to support farmers in rural America. We ate lunch at a vegetarian restaurant where most items on the menu come from the restaurant’s own farm a few miles away in Freedom, Maine. A simple market filled half of the space, displaying galvanized aluminum tubs of produce, quart jars of raw honey and bags of dried Yellow Eye beans.

Back at the camp that night, we boiled some new potatoes and tossed them with fresh shell peas, herbs, butter, salt and pepper. I steamed some beet greens and we cracked a few beers from Geary’s, a brewery in Portland. As I savored the simple flavors of the food, I thought about my grandfather, who had a habit of visiting farms and buying unreasonable quantities of vegetables, and of my great great grandmother who made butter by hand on a farm in Ripley — both traditions that I’m proud to carry on. And I plotted out which towns I’d like to explore next time. Perhaps I’ll take a drive out to the Maine Sea Salt Company, or to a potato farm up in Aroostook County. There’s certainly plenty left to discover, and I’m sure it will be tasty.

We have always used our appetites and our tastebuds to connect to a sense of place. Whether you live in a city, small town, or out in the country, now is the perfect time to head off on a foodie exploration. Here are a few tips to get you started.

Take a Drive
The Eat Well Guide is an excellent resource for finding sustainable farms, markets and restaurants, and its road trip feature will help you create a delicious route. You might also follow my standard road trip rule: I never pass by a sign for fresh eggs, pick-your-own blueberries, fresh vegetables or raw milk without stopping in. You’ll probably learn something new, you might make some new friends, and you’ll almost certainly end up with something delicious on your front seat.

Visit Historical Societies
There’s a wealth of information housed in the historical societies and museums of America’s cities and small towns, and historians love to share information. You’ll be surprised at the food-related industries that defined some our towns (Belfast referred to itself as the “Broiler Capital of the World”, and crowned a Broiler Queen each year on Broiler Day).

Get Inspired
A Works Progress Administration project in the 1930s entitled America Eats! employed out-of-work writers to travel the country recording regional food traditions. When federal spending priorities shifted from the social to the military, the project was ultimately shelved, along with piles of manuscripts, photographs and recordings, and remained buried for decades. In the past few years, however, food writers and historians have begun to comb through the rich histories, and two excellent books have emerged:

America Eats!: On the Road with the WPA – the Fish Fries, Box Supper Socials, and Chitlin Feasts That Define Real American Food
By Pat Willard

The Food of a Younger Land: A Portrait of American Food—Before the National Highway System, Before Chain Restaurants, and Before Frozen Food, When the Nation’s Food Was Seasonal
By Mark Kurlanksy

Anne Dailey is a writer and locavore who grew up in Maine and now lives in the Hudson Valley where she writes about food and farms, grows a little garden and runs a small farmer-to-consumer food co-op. She maintains a blog, Raw Milk & Liver and loves doing yoga by the Hudson River. Her previous articles for Last Exit examined heirloom tomatoes,forgotten foods,homemade saurkraut,/a>and raw milk.

Copyright Last Exit 2009