A little farm,
at the bend
of the river.
Riverwind started in 1978 as one red barn, a thousand seedlings, and a hand-lettered sign my grandfather nailed to a fencepost off Route 70. Nearly half a century later, the sign is still there — a little weathered, but so are we.
Every year around Thanksgiving, we hang the string lights on the barn and the whole place changes. Wood smoke. Balsam. Boots on frozen grass. Someone always running ahead of the rest. We grow six varieties on forty acres, we remember you from last year, and when you find the right one — we'll be there with the saw.