Going to Pot

I’ve always had gardens: big ones, small ones, rangy out of control ones,tightly manicured ones; some with vegetables, some not. All manner of plants and climates from zone 3 to 8.

My gardens have always revealed my mood and state of well being. In times of sadness, they are neglected and weedy. When I am happy they over flow with flowers and fruit.

When I was a child, my grandmother, great aunt and mother all had fabulous gardens. They were in a decidedly European style, ringed by fruit trees, and giant bushes laden with fruit. We had enormous bouquets of flowers all season long and dried bouquets into winter. The garden filled our freezers and canning shelves with magical jellies, jams, compotes, sauces, whole tomatoes, like glowing orbs of summer just waiting to explode into a stew or soup.

The spring and summer were a riot of sweet lettuces,tender asparagus, little green onions and luscious peas. By fall we had squash and tomatoes coming out our ears and preserved all that could be eaten. The herbs were dried, the neighboring woods bounty provided nuts and mushrooms who lined up next to the dried herbs as if soldiers in the line of battle against winter’s nutritional sparseness.

Now I live with Farmers’ Markets and local produce all year round and of course those silly raspberries from Peru. Florida makes mangoes and lychees in abundance and I…