It’s such a joy to grow things.
And even more satisfying to know that the stuff we’re eating is from our own garden.
This year, as I walked through the garden, I found myself eating berries and vegetables before I even got them into the house.
Instead of making jelly, I ate the currants fresh from the bush every day.
Asparagus spears, delicious when eaten fresh, often didn’t make it into the kitchen.
Same for the raspberries and even some tomatoes.
Being able to forage for food in one’s own garden is a privilege.
Recently, we’ve made herb oils (basil, in this case).
And I’ve made peach cake.
Knowing my tragic history with baking cakes, my family was impressed by how well it turned out.
I was so impressed with my baking victory that I kept making the same cake over and over again.
“Make her stop!” younger daughter begged her father.
I protested and she said “Mom, I love you. But you know … you find one thing that you can make, and you keep making it and making it till we’re sick of it.”
I rolled my eyes and tried to look penitent. But I was busy making another peach cake.
Soon it will be time to pull the garlic and onion bulbs from the soil.
And time to make apple pie.
I’ll peel and slice the apples, and my good man will make the pies. Everyone in our family looks forward to this tradition (and no-one complains since he only makes these delicious pies once a year).
It’s the simple stuff. The good stuff.
And my daughter will be relieved to know that now I’m serving the peaches freshly sliced, with yogourt.
But just wait till next summer.
PHOTOS BY HAMLIN GRANGE
Cynthia Reyes 