I still tend to run light on flowers in the garden. I’m slowly learning when to sow what where. I know each year I can count on one prolific bloomer to feed the early bees and it’s a sunshine-yellow reminder to ignore the boxes we so often try and think within.
From soil to seed to pan to freezer to pot to pile to soil.
There’s now a “stock bag” in the freezer as a permanent resident. Carrot tops, onion skins, garlic butts, celery ends: they all go in the bag as they depart from their meatier bits that are bound for the pan.
When the bag is full, it goes in a pan to boil and salt, salt and boil, until there’s the most lovely green broth with which to base a soup.
The simmered remnants go to the compost pile, where they transform into soil to feed the future harvest of carrots and onions…
When you pull the thistle before it blooms (and before it chokes out the dill) only to spot lady bug eggs on the underside…
Back in the garden you go, little larvae buffet.
The only kind of blooming onion I like.
Not every common name makes common sense. (What even is a moonglow tomato?)
But this chard, Perpetual Chard, is aptly named. This is a perennial in my garden. Come caterpillar or cold weather, leaves spring forth a-new from the ever-increasing girth of the trunk.
I take the leaves for scrambled eggs.
I take the tree for dinner.
I take the side shoots for quesadillas.
And then I give the bees their turn.
And they, in turn, give me next year’s start.
Buddha is happy to remind traipsing bipeds of the budding asparagus.