berry berry bo-berry

Once the berries start to ripen, you watch the plants like an eager hawk, ready to pluck and eat at the first sign of readiness. You can identify ready raspberries and strawberries, but each time, you try and push the boundaries of ripeness. Yesterday gave us our first ripe strawberries–two of them–and you devoured them both. The meager harvest wasn’t enough for you, and finding strawberries at the first East Nashville Farmers’ Market of the season became your mission for the afternoon. We bought some from Farmer Jimmy, and you easily put away a half quart all by yourself. There are so many beautiful life lessons in this simple act of growing berries–plant identification, patience as you wait for the berries to ripen, other critters that like strawberries like birds and bugs. I love what you are learning.

spring harvest

While I still can’t get you to eat either lettuce or radishes, you have tried them and do like picking them with me. You can identify a ready radish, and you’re learning to wield the culinary scissors. I love spending time in the garden with you!

‘tatoes!

I could barely contain my joy [and sadness] as I reviewed with you the steps we’d taken to this point: You had helped me weed and prep the garden bed, plant seeds and seedlings, water the veggies throughout the summer and dig up our first-ever potatoes. You loved discovering them hidden in the soil and shaking off the bigger clumps of dirt. You helped me wash them in our deep kitchen sink, place them in the pan and then gazed with wonder as they boiled stovetop. Then we sat down to dinner, and you tasted the little potatoes I had tossed–skins on–in olive oil and sea salt. I saw the gears turn, as I traced for you the steps of this little spud from backyard dirt to your plate, and you smiled and said, “I yike.”

I’ve always been sort of heartbroken that I hadn’t genetically passed on my intense affection for potatoes to you. They were the one veggie that made you gag as a baby. As you’ve grown, your tastebuds have changed–matured even–and you ate this potato with sheer joy. Then… you requested another! Could a momma be more proud?! I was proud that you liked them, proud that you helped me grow them, proud that you wanted to be a part of the ritual needed to prepare them. The part that brought tears to my eyes and put a lump in my throat was thinking how proud your Papa would’ve been too–of you, of me, of that moment. I think he was looking down on us and smiling, don’t you, little man?