Once there were greenfields

Most mornings the dogs and I are up early. This morning that was a major disadvantage because early brought skies full of thunder and lightning and pouring rain. We waited on the front porch, joined by the Better Half, in hopes of an interruption, pause, or diminution of the downpour. Meanwhile, the dogs quivered and shivered in anxiety at the fireworks and explosions in the sky. Eventually, there was sufficient opportunity for dogs and dog walkers to chance getting wet without getting drowned and dogs to relieve themselves after a long night.

Later, as the countryside dried out, we headed off on a mission. Community Supported Agriculture (CSA) Summer shares started today. Our drive through the countryside revealed a much greener, lusher landscape than several weeks ago. Much of the corn is waist to shoulder high. Soy bean fields look healthy. Storms last night and early this morning brought down a few branches and trees that partially blocked some places on the road, but nothing we couldn’t drive around by using the shoulder. A high point of the drive to pick up our share was noticing how much bee balm (bergamot) has come into bloom.

Wild Bergamot (Monarda fistulosa)

Photo by J. Harrington

This week’s CSA box contained:

• ARUGULA
• GARLIC SCAPES
• KALE
• LETTUCE
• PURSLANE
• RADISH

[I don’t believe I’ve ever eaten purslane before. No doubt the Better Half will sneak some into a salad to see if I notice.]

As we pulled onto the township road after picking up our CSA share, a whitetail doe was standing in the middle of the road where we needed to turn left. We slowly pulled onto the road. She looked at us with disdain and jumped toward the ditch. I pulled the Jeep forward very slowly and the Better Half got to chat with the doe from about twelve feet away. All in all, a noteworthy improvement from the way the day started. Remember, “Trend is not destiny.” 

cutting greens

By Lucille Clifton

curling them around

i hold their bodies in obscene embrace

thinking of everything but kinship.

collards and kale

strain against each strange other

away from my kissmaking hand and

the iron bedpot.

the pot is black,

the cutting board is black,

my hand,

and just for a minute

the greens roll black under the knife,

and the kitchen twists dark on its spine

and I taste in my natural appetite

the bond of live things everywhere.

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