After a long winter, we are so happy to leave dried beans and root veggies behind and move on to the flavors of spring: tangy rhubarb, earthy fiddleheads, the abundant chives that are just begging to be divided. We’ve got a porch full of plants, a forgotten fig tree that’s stretching towards the cellar window (weekend project: bring up the fig!), and blossoms that promise a season of fruit. The garden calls! Happy Spring!
As we continue to wind the farm down for winter, picking the last apples and digging up the last potatoes, Charlotte wrote this poem in her home writing journal. It’s a combination of non-fiction and fiction, she points out. The “fiction” is contained in the last line.My Garden My Garden grows in summer not winter fall or spring when plants die it’s a bummer but I remember just one thing the plants were so delicious we cooked them in a meal they were also so nutritious we cooked them with an eel *