I’ve been checking the 7-day weather forecast religiously, in anticipation for the last frost. I know, we’re all supposed to wait until after Mother’s Day but “oh well” is all I have this evening, my garden has been planted. The cucumbers vined in the house, grabbed ahold of a large zucchini leaf, and just about strangled it to death; and death comes easy anyways for tender plants. I pried the little sticky hands away from its almost-victim and declared it time for everyone to move outside. The two week forecast says the lowest prediction is 50 degrees, and most every day’s high is in between 60 and 80 degrees. With the decision to run a little risk, of course there’s a back up plan that involves maneuvering lots of tarps, while panicked, sometime after dark. For now I’m just staring out the window into the backyard, cheering on little pepper plants, tomatoes, cucumbers, zucchinis, watermelon, basil, spinach, carrot, and pea plants. I forgot about the onion sets I purchased at the grocery store, they’ll have to wait until tomorrow as I’ve already scrubbed my hands and am ready for a proper Friday night dinner of sushi and sake.
The grass is cut, the mint is getting tall, and my husband is prepping the front yard flower box. The dried mums were removed, finally, and life is beginning again. We live in town, and curb appeal is always a fun thing to participate in. To share beauty with the community is special, I find it akin to a heartfelt wave every time someone drives past the house. “What should we plant in the flower box this year?” he asks, and I know that if left un-answered, he will make the better choices without me. His vision for beauty is keen, so I look forward to leaving the artist to his own creation, and sitting back to enjoy his work. By the looks of the outdoors now, it’s hard to believe that only weeks ago everything outside was dead, dormant, grey, still. There is a full blown symphony of activity now, including the carpenter bees that are drilling deep into my pergola and leaving little fragile pyramids of wood shavings behind, the birds are absolutely wailing too, and lawn mowers and weed eaters can be heard humming away for miles. The wind is leaving no gaps for stillness, and the rain is swirling all of the new colors into a blur in preparation for the summer months ahead.
This time of year has me craving the snap of asparagus on the plate, little deviled eggs with an herb garnish, radishes and arugula. A dream day for me in April would be to head out into the woods, basket in hand, to forage a patch of wild ramps, and then to find a haul of morel mushrooms. With greens and mushrooms in tow, next would be hours of trout fishing from the bank with a packed lunch of bread, and cheese, and lots of wine. I’d pull in nice, large fish and clean them proper to bring home for a perfect springtime dinner. To cook the trout I’d keep things simple as I have before, pan fried in butter with a squeeze of lemon to finish. Picking around the bones has never bothered me, for a special dinner must be taken slow, savored. Satisfied from the meal, I’d finish the day fireside to dry the mud from my feet and to reflect on how whole it can feel to exist alongside the natural world. I think Gladys would approve.
“It is wonderful to have as a gift from nature a garden you can cultivate; but there are other gifts too -wild strawberries, which taste sweeter; wild grapes, which make the best jelly, morel mushroom, which we used topick in the old apple orchard. The morels have gone, but I keep hoping that they will reappear as mysteriously as they went. These delicious mushrooms are shaped like spongy trees and grow to be as much as two inches high. Sliced lengthwise and broiled in butter, morels are gourmet fare.” -Gladys Taber
Mysterious is a good description of the these elusive little treasures, I must admit to you, I’ve never had the good fortune of finding any morels, and not because I haven’t spent time looking. During the pandemic my husband and I went out almost everyday for weeks of peak season to hunt the woods in our county, and surrounding counties. The confusion and uncertainty of the virus and politics drove us outdoors, sometimes I wonder if we were really searching for mushrooms or something else within ourselves to navigate being in quarantine. We mapped hillsides, searched for elms, ash, and tulip poplars, south-facing slopes, and may apples. We found all of those, but never once a single morel. We also found ourselves asking more questions about life and the future than we’d every considered before. Looking back now, I don’t think we were looking for mushrooms at all, we just knew the act of searching was needed.
Nature and I are left to nurture together, now that my seedlings have been set in the ground. Hopefully these little pale thumbs will turn a shade darker this year and 3 months from now I’ll be writing about drowning in tomatoes. Tomorrow I will run outside early to spend the morning staring at every detail in the paper thin leaves I’m to raise. Tonight I can only solicit the watchfulness of the moon and stars to get them through their first hours of darkness.
As always, I do love to chat so drop me a line!
justicesarah67@yahoo.com
The Mint Patch Monologue 