Monthly Archives: September 2017
Try and try again.
It hasn’t been the year for squash. Last year, The Year of the Squash, I almost nearly tired of them. Almost. Nearly. But not even close.
A few grey zucchini in the spring. Ten crook neck plants picked up by my love at the local feed store. They try. They try to live, they try to die, they try to bloom, and finally, they try to almost nearly set fruit.
And then they don’t.
Little late season sweetÂ
She blooms
Each day, closer. Inching less than inches, but progressing all the same.
Suddenly, she’s there. Another switch flipped and it’s time. Finally, it’s time. Too soon, it’s time. It’s always time.
Jalapeno tree
If I knew the variety, I’d only ever grow this one.
With love.
Picked wild and free on the hillsides I roamed as a child, packed, and shipped with love.
Measured, poured, spilled, and felt by tiny hands full of curiosity and mixed with love.
Poked, commented upon, and laughed at, with love.
Mixed, rolled, filled, and baked with love.
Eaten with gusto, feeling the love.
Sweet potato basil.
It’s a jungle out there.
The paths, left untread, are paths no longer.
But the basil basks in the shaded earth, cool toes wriggling in the damp.
And those who seek the warmth rise above.
plumdirt 