Harvest


Earlier this year I boasted about our amazing garden and how it produced so much food for us that we had to give a lot of it away. We’ve been spoiled. So many of the meals I prepared and put on the table came from our garden and not the store.

We’ve enjoyed vegetables and herbs as they should be: fresh and free of pesticides and other chemicals.
Yesterday we sliced the last mini- watermelon, munched the last of the grape tomatoes and chopped the last stalks of celery for a salad. We have a few ripening tomatoes lined up for duty on the window sill. And then … that’s it.
Kind of sad for us all. Most of all for Girl from the East, who discovered the joys of the garden this season.

We captured the above picture of her a few weeks ago carrying in the day’s harvest. She has been an active participant in the garden all year. She helped drop the seeds into the earth this spring, and checked almost daily for sprouts — proof that the planting was successful. She learned how to pull weeds. How to water the plants. Most recently, she perfected plucking the fruits of all her labor from the stalks and placing them gently into a basket. 

It just may come naturally to her. I sent this picture to a friend I have in Nanchang, China, the nearest large city to where my baby girl was born. She wrote back that with her interest in growing and eating vegetables, my baby is truly a Jiangxi girl. What little we know about baby girl’s roots is that she came from a rural, farming community. I’m grateful to have this one connection to my girl’s origins.

Break-up story

National Geographic Society

 

The signs of trouble are always right in front of me. Do I see them? Or do I choose ignorance?

In this relationship, our time together grows shorter with the passing of each hour. Sometimes my love slips out the door shortly after dinner. The bloom of our love fades by the day, from the vibrant green of infatuation to the faded gold, red and brown of neglect. Our once-solid foundation hangs on a frayed thread.

Each year Summer and I break up as intensely as  a first love. Yet each year I find a rebound guy pretty fast.

Autumn is cool. He’s colorful and fun. But Autumn is more of a whirlwind romance. He blows into town on a tropical depression, sucker-punching Summer to the sidelines. Autumn takes over fairly fast, rearranging the landscape and lighting to his tastes. And just as we’re getting comfortable with each other, drunk on cider and doughnuts, playing dress-up and overindulging in sweets, he slips away in the dead of night, leaving behind a note scribbled in frost:

“Watch out for Winter; she can be a bitch.”