Sooooooo, the farmer left about 45 minutes ago

Yes, people, he stayed over.

But it's not what you think. He slept on my ever-popular livingroom futon. Because otherwise, a la my dad, who has done this in the dead of winter in an ancient Volvo, he was going to sleep in the cab of his truck. He actually made himself rather comfortable rather quickly, laying initially on what he called his "Amish chastity quilt" on the floor and poking things with his feet while we chatted.

Dinner was delicious, and impressive -- we ate at Casablanca, in Harvard Square, one of his customers. A sous chef there who knows him sent us up a couple of plates of tasty nibbly bits during dinner and came up after to chat as well. During dinner (as well as after), farmer Pete was a gentleman, although he did let me know about the many journalists who seem to want to use him as their sole source of information, but then misquote him. I am used to this and did not in turn let him know about the many farmers who grow inferior vegetables with bugs in them that I only see once I am, say, chopping up my broccoli to put it in the steamer pot.

But he's cuter and more interesting than all my internet dates put together. He comes from a family of self-starters. His mother sounded most impressive -- she was a homesteader of sorts, working super-hard raising food and also doing a bit of homeschooling. One of his sisters owns a flower business and his brother is on the Olympic cross-country ski team.

So is there a chance for romance? Given that he lives four hours away from me and also ran out the door before I could feed him breakfast, I don't honestly know. I did find him to be quite an admirable fellow and I had a swell time. Thanks, farmer Pete!