Fresh from the greenhouses, in a Michigan February
As a city-living vegetarian, I really considered salads to be somewhat overrated. Maybe I took all those “how can you subsist on rabbit food” comments to heart, but I mostly found salads disappointing after all the preparation that went into making them. I ate them, sure; still, my heart was not in it.
Nowadays, though? Now I love the stuff. I love picking it, I love washing it, I love preparing it…I love my Sunday-afternoon salad-dressing sessions. Maybe it’s a zen thing, this time that it takes to pick/wash/dry, with some chopping thrown in.
Green onions, Par-Cel cuttting celery, Flakee carrots, purple-top turnip, and purple kohlrabi
I really love the noise of the knife hitting the cutting board: thock thock thock.
Maybe I’ve just got a mild case of Stockholm syndrome: loving one’s oppressors. Wait: who’s holding whom hostage: do I own my greenhouses or do they own me?