I am in a state of bliss. Yesterday I got to spend some quality time with my parents’ garden in Prince Edward Island. As someone who lives in a beautiful old flat in downtown Halifax—and loves to live in a beautiful old flat in downtown Halifax—having access to a garden is a joyful novelty since I have no backyard square footage where I can grow all of the veggies I love. Instead I get my greens at the market. And there’s nothing wrong with that. But the beauty of pulling some turnips out of the ground and grating them into a fresh, tart slaw within the hour is not lost on me in a haze of routine or regularity. I cherish it.
I just took a ten minute break from dutifully working (and then another ten to dutifully blog) to head to the garden to pluck a few green tomatoes to fry up for lunch. I also got some tasty looking beets, some more onions to grill and a bucket full of earthy russet potatoes which I’ll add to tonight’s dinner menu. Later on I will get some zucchini and pumpkin blossoms that are begging to be dipped in a light batter and devoured simply by hanging off of the rows of flowering plants that my father has lovingly tended. I’ll also stuff that ridiculous zucchini up there before spending the breezy North shore evening cracking open the shells of some just-ripe green beans that my two-year-old niece will greedily and speedily pluck the beans from while yelling “pea!” as she eats each one. I’ll say “no, it’s a bean,” she’ll laugh and we’ll crack another one open.