Rainy Day Epiphanies



My trusty shovel and I worked very hard on those ditches!



It's a rainy February morning here on the farm, and I've not seen this much water since the winter we built our house.  The ditches I hand-dug are spilling over; the culvert under the driveway is gamely trying to direct the water to the future stock pond location.  It's so quiet I can hear the occasional meadowlark complaining about the rain.  He'll be singing a new tune when the water subsides enough for him to snatch up the insects surfacing to escape the boggy dirt.

Yes, that's my back yard!

So much for working outside; the dirt, when this wet, will suck the muck boots right off your feet.

So, it's an inside day, sort of.  I could actually trim the overgrown roses from the porch.  Or I could clean off last season's pots from the back porch. 

Or I could start the spring seeds.

Yes, I am grinning.  Because, you see, I spent last night sorting through my seeds, listing my peppers in order of heat, finding the seeds I could start today.  I have a plan.  Sort of.  As much of a plan as I ever have.  Today is asparagus day.  Sigh.

And that whirling sound you hear is my grandmother spinning in her grave.  (Not really, but she's probably up in heaven throwing up her hands either in exasperation or in jubilation.)  She offered me asparagus many times.  Boiled with cheese.  Boiled with white sauce.  Boiled with white sauce and pimento.  Hidden in soups (yup, still boiled).  And, every time, my eagle eye would spot it, and refuse it, because, "I don't like asparagus!"  (Usually followed by a mental foot-stomp.  One did not foot-stomp around my grandmother.)

She would plead, and cajole, and I would refuse.  And then I grew up.  And someone offered me asparagus in the one manner my grandmother had not prepared asparagus:  roasted.

Oh, my.  It was wonderful!  Where had this delectable treat been all my life? 

I shared it with my husband who "did not like asparagus!" 

I shared it with my children who "did not like asparagus!"

And we had a collective epiphany:  "We do like ROASTED asparagus!"



My seed bay



So, today, in the "seed bay" in my garage while the rain patters outside, with my grandmother looking over my shoulder from heaven, I'm planting Burpee's Mary Washington asparagus seed.  It will have to be nurtured for a year before it's ready to plant, but, if I can have fresh roasted asparagus in the future, it's worth the investment of time.

It occurs to me, as the silence allows my thoughts to weave some gossamer cloth of meaning, that many things are like asparagus.  If we make assumptions about things without exploring all the various possibilities, we miss out on something truly delightful. 

So thank you, Grandmama.  You did tell me, and I've finally heard you.

But I still don't like brussel sprouts.