Two dozen beds cut into the paths, planted thick enough that the kitchens can take from them every morning without the garden looking picked over. The perennials — thyme, sage, oregano, bay — hold through the winter and get cut back hard in spring. The basil and dill go in fresh each year and are gone by the first frost.

At The Smokehouse

Oregano, thyme, and sage go into the dry rub, cut here and dried in bunches rather than bought in tins. The sage also goes into the sausage, which is the one thing on the menu where you can taste a single herb instead of the blend.

At The Greenhouse

Basil and mint come in by the handful and get used the same day — basil torn over the flatbreads, mint in the lemonade. Parsley and chives do the quieter work, folded into the dressings or scattered over a plate on the way out.

At The Boathouse

Dill and bay, both for fish. The dill goes over the fried platter and into the tartar sauce; the bay goes into the chowder pot at the start of the day and gets fished back out before service.

The trees live in the Mediterranean Garden — a couple dozen in glazed pots, wheeled out in spring and back under glass before the first hard freeze. They flower and fruit at the same time, so there's usually something ripe on them from midwinter through the summer.

At The Smokehouse

The lemonade is pressed here, not poured from a mix, and it's the counterweight to everything else on that menu — the whole point of a rub that heavy is something sharp to drink alongside it.

At The Boathouse

Lemon goes out with the fish, cut in wedges on the platter and squeezed into the pan before service. It's the least complicated thing in this guide and the one you'd miss immediately if it were gone.

At The Greenhouse

Lemon and dill together, both cut on the grounds — the dill from the herb beds, the lemon off the potted trees a few hundred feet away. It's the one dressing on the menu where both halves came from inside the park.

Elsewhere

Frozen lemonade at the carts, the same juice run through a machine instead of over ice.

A small herd, milked twice a day in the barn — early morning and late afternoon, both on the schedule if you want to watch. Most of it goes to the creamery next door, where the fresh cheeses are ready in a day or two and the aged wheels sit on the racks for months before anyone cuts one.

At the Smokehouse

The buttermilk is what's left after churning, and it does two jobs here: the ranch on the table and the biscuits under everything else. Both are better for it than the versions made with milk, which is the entire reason the churn is still running.

At the Greenhouse

The panini is built on whatever's come out of the beds that week — grilled and layered with an aged wheel from the creamery, which melts slowly enough to hold the vegetables together instead of running out the sides. The bread is the only part that arrives by truck.

At The Boathouse

The chowder is built on milk from the morning, which is why it's made in one pot each day and stops when it's gone. Bay from the herb beds goes in at the start and comes back out before service.