It was another dry winter in the Napa Valley. One by one, a dozen old fir trees on our rental property died. This portend of another inferno finally convinced me, after nearly fifty years, to leave the once-soggy and verdant coast of northern California behind.

In an arduous leap I’ve landed back in my native Wisconsin, where I’ve bought my first house at last.

To those who say, “What about the cold?” I say, “I’d rather freeze than burn!” Operations have been shut down for weeks in the turmoil of the move, but I’m here, I’m back in business, and if this isn’t heaven, I am very fortunate indeed.

The three-acre property is set in open farmland near Lake Michigan and south of Door County, the thumb of our mitten-shaped state. A rambling clapboard house nestled in old hemlocks and sugar maples, now hung with woodland majolica.

Lush landscaping fades into forest; a stream meanders through, strewing wildflowers on its way to East Twin River. Just in time for spring - every day brings something new!

A separate shop building houses my new production kitchen just steps from my back door. My brother at the family farm is now 2 hours away, not 2,000 miles, with access to crab apples, currants. There will be cherries and other local fare, but I need not forsake exotic citrus - contacts have shipped fruit for fresh batches of superb Calamondin and Finger Lime Marmalades, available now!

Seville Orange and Rangpur Lime Marmalades are also back in stock, as is my Rare Marmalade Trio gift set. Releasing a batch of Winter Fruitcakes as well! Found a source for wild blueberries so the Wild Blueberry Lemon Jam has returned, as has the Raspberry Champagne Jelly, and all my chocolate sauces.

There were painful losses last year; in September, my Mom passing at 99, then, sadly, my sister just 4 months later--so terribly fast, and far too soon. The countless times Sue read to her little brothers until her voice gave out--of all the things she gave me, I am best served by my love of words, though her departure leaves me without them. Learn of her life here.

A survivor inhabits that phantom world where echoes of what was lost still linger. Though they never saw it, I think of how these two who bore and taught me would have loved this place, and what I would have cooked if they came. For Mom, the young rhubarb; Sue, the morels to come; for both, the broad swaths of silken ramps. Yet food can’t help but start a new story. This year’s leaves unfurl daily. Beauty is everywhere. All I can say, after all the years of searching, is Robert Lambert, welcome home at last.

My best to you and all your loved ones—

Robert Lambert
Kewaunee, Wisconsin
May, 2021