My help pick the little balls.

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And then, we reap.

With these from feet away and peas in the salad picked moments before, our meal is made.

The beans will be ready for a first pick tomorrow or the next day. The peas will have their last harvest the next day or tomorrow. The tides turn with their speed. The earth spins with hers. The garden moves at its own pace. I’m merely here to watch it turn.

Around and around it goes.

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…

Ka-boom.

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.