That Once-Weedy Garden

 

 

So, for the last few weeks, I’ve literally been collecting buckets of sugar snap peas from our kitchen garden. It’s a magic pudding of sorts – the more I pick, the more it replenishes, and the more we have to store, or eat, or give away to grandparents and friends. I’ve sent the kids outside when they’re hungry, suggesting that there’s more than enough growing in the garden for them to pick and enjoy as often as they’d like; I love watching them happily pluck a new pea from it’s creeping vine, and munch on the just picked sweetness of the pod. 

During the winter, things grew slowly and seemed to take forever to break through the surface. But this week, I’ve see the bulbous heads of beetroot and carrot tops pushing through the soil and straw; have spied a tiny lone heirloom tomato growing in amongst a bloom of yellow buds; I’ve tasted our celery, which is strong and vibrant, even if it’s not upright (perhaps I should have gathered the long stalks together when they were still supple and tied them with something soft?); and it seems like the broccoli and cauliflower are doubling in size every night. There are rouge daisies, planted nearly three years ago, but pulled out when they became too wild, popping up in quite random places – next to coriander, in amongst the Italian parsley, or in a patch that only ever grew root vegetables, and I love seeing their small sunny heads craning towards the morning sun. And the natives are all in bloom – we have quick-winged colourful flocks feasting on the new flowers and nectar, and the constant hum of local bees in the cool of the morning. 

I love the beginning of spring; doesn’t everything just look brighter, greener, and smell sweeter at the change of season?

Nat