Amy’s Country Kitchen has a lot of mojos these days. This week, I saw teachers from the high school ordering lunch, a bunch of state and local highway workers in the wooden shed, drinking coffee and gossiping, two State Troopers having a sandwich outside.

A few minutes later, a Verizon worker pulled in with his truck to get some coffee.

“We’re having meatloaf today,” said Amy. “I know,” he said. “I got some calls already. You’ll be busy today.”

Yesterday, a woman from the highly organic local Food Co-op was having a cup of coffee outside, reading a book on her Kindle.”I’m so happy that this place is here,” she said.

There’s a lot of energy coming out of the kitchen, Amy is practically living in her red cooking trailer on Route 22 next to the Cambridge Livestock Auction – formerly the home of a Thai take-out operation in Greenwich, N.Y. There are flowers there now, the coffee is always fresh and hot, and Amy bakes all of her own muffins.

Amy is putting in some grueling hours – on livestock auction day, Tuesday, she is working from before sunrise well into the evening. She was up last night making her meatloaf, which is rumored to be wonderful.

Maria and I might just slip over there for lunch. It’s a lot of fun to see this strong and independent woman figure out how to get her food business going and ready for winter.

And of course, there are the coos lowing mournfully in their pens.

I stop by every morning for coffee now, and I bring home a muffin for Maria.

Amy’s still mulling some sort of tent to connect her trailer to the wooden shed, which is heated and just a few feet away. I hope she figures out how to stay warm.

I don’t know if I’ll like the shed in the winter, but I can always drink my coffee in the car if it comes down to it. Or bring it home. Amy says she has a good plan for warmth, I believe her.

I like Amy, and I respect her. She is direct and very hard working. And she has a great, dry sense of humor, that mischievous twinkle is never very far away.

There is no drama or bullshit to her, she knows precisely what she wants and I think she loves the perch her red trailer provides, she seems to know everybody in town and has something to say to each of them.

When my car pulls up, she puts the decaf coffee pot on, she grudgingly agrees to be photographed. Three times this week, I heard people in town talking about her food and how good it is, and how pleased people are to have this place to stop for some coffee or a sandwich (or meatloaf).

In a town like this, word of mouth is the best possible advertising. There is much buzz about Amy. Maria and I are rooting for her, it’s inspiring to see strong women doing their stuff in any form.

Amy is intense, and no detail is unimportant.

She was worried about a family who came last week and hasn’t returned, perhaps because it took her longer than usual to cook, she was swamped that day for lunch.

Well, maybe they’re from out of town, Maria and I both suggested.

“No,” she said, “I know their truck. They go by every day.”

They’ll be back.

She’s already a success, I think.