Spring has me thinking of food. Not only what’s growing in my garden, but the delicious things I find on restaurant menus and in grocery store donut cases. You know, that clear-doored oddly non-airtight “bakery” windows that offer me those white-icinged, rainbow sprinkled morsels of heaven. I think when Spring comes, food is first on the mind. Freshness is once again at our fingertips. No more root vegetables. No more lentils. The promise of heirloom tomatoes sweetens the air. But it’s only a promise. Spring is a bust.
Sure, I can plant the plants. I can start growing what I love it eat. I planted four brussel sprouts this season – one has been eaten by the hateful, and ever-present, groundhog. Pig! But three remain! The tomato plants are in the ground. Peppers are growing. The lettuce has grown. But they are growing. Like adolescents. Babies and teenagers, not yet ready for the adult table. And that leads to disappointment. So close, but not quite there.
And so I eat donuts. Hungry while waiting. I also love those individual ice cream cups they sell in stores now. Delicious. But I eat the junk food as I wait. Wait for the bounty of this nature of ours. I grow antsy in my pantsy. But it’ll come. More veggies than I can stand. And apples, other fruits, and various farmer’s market finds. This week, the market only had plants and lettuce. And no blue cheese. But there were sweet peas – grown with manure heat. They were gorgeous. And smelled of a nosegay QE1 would be proud to sniff at court.
And so we wait. For growing things to grow. For flowers to turn into foods. Edible foods, like zucchini and strawberries and tomatoes. And if the groundhog needs a plant or two, be my guest. Until you are trapped and sent to live far away. In Newark. After all, I’ve waited so long for my bounty. I can’t share it. But until it comes, (and probably after it comes), I’ll be sitting idly by, eating my donuts. And tending my garden.