Ramping up

Here's the thing: I am teaching and working on a book, so I don't have much free time. Paul has been busy planning our new restaurant. He doesn't have much free time, either, and our dining room table is covered with papers, books, catalogs, and a computer. We've been eating in the living room, and as I write, the UPS truck is clattering down the dirt road. We are waiting for a delivery of small ware samples--more stuff to (necessarily) clutter our dining room.

False alarm.

Somehow, though, we manage to carve out enough time to do the things we love to do. For me, it is gardening, for Paul--cooking. Last night, he headed up the hill with our two dogs and our daughter and her buddy trailing behind. They poked through the woods and carefully collected two bags of fragrant ramps, also known as wild leeks. I say carefully because ramp pickers must respect the plants so there are more for next year. Same goes for morels. Don't yank those babies out of the ground, please.

By six o'clock, our kitchen smelled of vinegar, spices, and ramps, and then out came the jars. Here is the finished product:

Paul planted trays and cups of squash, tomatoes, fennel, and beets a few weeks ago, and until now, they lived under bright lights in the basement. We can finally set them outside each day so they can soak up the sunshine. I am looking forward to planting them in giant pots and in the ground, but we've got a month to go before the danger of frost is gone. This means small pots and trays will fill our kitchen (and yes, the dining room) each night. Our asparagus should be popping soon. We still haven't pruned our grape vines. Grass, dandelions, sorrel, and speedwell are choking out our once tidy rows.

There is a lot of weeding in my future.

 

Get outside and enjoy each day. Get close to the ground and smell the rich soil that ultimately feeds you and your loved ones. Plant a few tomatoes. Don't be afraid of bugs, or getting dirt under your nails.

        I WILL arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,

        And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made:
        Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honey-bee,
        And live alone in the bee-loud glade.

        And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,
        Dropping from the veils of the mourning to where the cricket sings;
        There midnight's all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,
        And evening full of the linnet's wings.

        I will arise and go now, for always night and day
        I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;
        While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey,
        I hear it in the deep heart's core.

        ~ Lake Isle of Innisfree, William Butler Yeats