On a recent weekend day, my husband decided it was time to be proactive in the bunny wars. We had not yet experienced any attacks on our young sprouts, but chicken wire seemed to be a good idea. So he unrolled fencing and hammered posts into the ground to anchor it, and our little plot took on a more tucked-in, cared-for look. In the meantime, I dug out the brick path that had been buried in dirt and cleaned it off, giving us mud free access to all parts of the garden.
There were several gardeners there that day and we met a friend of the woman who used to work our plot. The friend confirmed what we knew had to be true, that the woman was a wonderful gardener and we had inherited some mighty fine dirt. She identified a mysterious plant as the herb lovage, and I learned that a “weed” I had pulled had in fact been sorrel, an herb I love on fish. How sad!
The previous “owner” had moved to a sunnier spot several plots down, and the results of her green thumb there are impressive. But it turns out there is something she misses: my gooseberries! Her friend initiated a negotiation on her behalf: would I be willing to trade the gooseberries for a jar of her jam? Of course, I said, she can have as many of them as she likes. And then I took a closer look at her current garden. A massive rhubarb plant sprawled, pink stalks peaking out from beneath huge poisonous leaves. I am unfortunately allergic to most fruits but rhubarb, oh rhubarb! I can eat rhubarb and it is one of my favorites. A deal was struck, and I left that day with an armful of luscious stalks, recipes dancing in my head.
Love your blogs, Ellen. Enjoy the fruits of your labor!