Last October I was chatting at the market with a local farmer who sells herb plants and greens, like lettuces, endive, and arugula, to plant in the garden. I asked if she thought it was too late to plant lettuce and spinach seeds for a fall crop. “Not at all,” she said, “Plenty of time.” I was skeptical but sowed some seeds anyway: red and green lettuce, turnips and spinach. They each grew about an inch or two by the time truly cold weather stopped them in their tracks. “Oh well,” I thought, “a small loss, but worth the try.”
Nature finds a way
I put the poor, shivering, little baby lettuce and spinach out of my mind, consigning them to temperatures down to the teens, snow, ice, and strong winds. Imagine my surprise in early February to see about a dozen spinach plants actually growing. Harsh winter did not kill them. So completely did I not believe that the healthy little buggers were actually growing before my very eyes, it took my wife to say, “I think there’s enough for us to eat. Why don’t you pick us a mess for supper.” And I did. And it was good. I wonder what was most satisfying? Was it eating the delicious, fresh spinach, or feeling the pride and wonder of produce from my own garden, miraculously grown and harvested in February!
You’d think I’d get over being so surprised by the vigor of life, the inexorable press of nature to produce living things.
