Munch crunch.

I’m glad my peas are delicious. Normally, I like to sauté the shoots in some butter or oil, add salt and garlic, and eat them warm.

A gardening fellow, perhaps with floppy ears or a skin-like tail, is continuously insisting they are best eaten fresh, crisp, and raw.

I’m looking at two weeks of utter free days with usual evenings before the holidays are here. Then daycare will be over and I’ll be starting a brand new use of my energies: stay at home parent.

All and any tips, guides, or suggestions very much welcome, especially if they’re for a parent who needs a balance of space and quiet, avoids shopping, and can’t eat most of the things that baking most days would create. (I’m missing baking, homemade bread, pie, and holiday cookies a lot these days, can you tell?)

Nestled.

The green beans are nestled down. Snug under old linens of love.

The peppers are left to fend for themselves.

The carrots and peas won’t mind a smidge.

The front porch spirits are indoors.

Stay warm this spooky cool night, y’all.

Uprooting

In a short few weeks we’ll have moved. Back to where we came. Three miles west.

To ready the house, to sell the house, to greener pastures in the form of better schools and shorter commutes.

I may not have a garden this spring. Or I may be keeping this one up for months, housing market dependent.

But I’ll bring some along for the ride, like this 4 year old chiogga beet.

While others will be gone before the house changes hands.

Any tips on moving asparagus crowns into containers for a few months?

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.