A COUNTRY LIFE

 

There are those days  so burnished, so bright they leave you breathless  with their perfection.

A day that ends with a walk to the garden in the early evening.  The sun hiding behind the gossiping corn.  The ritual of choosing the perfect vegetable for a late supper.

Playing the game of hide and seek with the zucchini.

Wrestling stalwart carrots from the clutches of the earth.

 

A day that began with a walk  to Home Farm to collect eggs.  Returning home laden with pears and apples from the orchard and fresh, fresh eggs.

A day where I fill the  Paris pantry with large wicker baskets of ripening pears.

The perfume of the apples  mingling with  the glorious smell of drying garlic.

 

The shelves of the pantry gleaming with jars of Fabergé coloured preserves .

Alchemy in the kitchen.

Flour and butter, sugar and apples become golden flaky pastry surrounding cinnamon apples.

Tiny , sweet pears  fill the canning jars.

Today, today was a golden day.  A day burnished and beautiful.

HOW DOES MY GARDEN GROW

The April morning is bright but cold.   Two pair of woolen socks inside gum boots.  A couple of battered tin buckets filled with seed potatoes.  I’m helping in the garden.  The spade goes in deep.  I drop in a potato.  Dad pulls out the spade.  Done.  It’s a two-man job.  Our vegetable garden is fifty feet wide and three short city blocks long.    We will  grow enough vegetables to last until the following year.

 

More than sixty years later I am digging in Yukon Yellow Golds, planting  rows of lettuce, carrots, beans, beets, radishes, onions.   It is such a joy to work in the garden.

It’s a shared new  garden.  My Good Neighbor did the hardest part – digging, tilling, loading it with manure.  We will share the bounty.

This morning I choose two jewel-like heads of red and green lettuce for my neighbor  Angela’s supper table.  Bon Appetit.