This March, I felt the ground thaw after an unusually difficult winter. Cherry blossom buds popped up on craggy branches, and our dogwoods’ bracts sprang open. As April approached, I caught myself smiling, finally, as the daffodils curled their necks up to the sky.
Still scattered and tired, I wanted to plunge my hands into something. Clay? Water? Earth. That’s how my little back patio garden began.
In fits and starts, I dug and plotted and tended. And even when so many of the seeds I sowed sprouted only to later shrivel, I grew to love my hodgepodge of hand-me-down pots with their scraggly plants, patient but eager. First, on a tear, I sowed mint and basil, poppies and geraniums.
Then, there were attempts at tomatoes and peppers. I remember the week I nestled a few rows of French sorrel and arugula into two long boxes. Within days, they spread into bushy bundles.
Through trial and error - and consults with neighbours and friends - I learned how to care for my tender greens. "Arugula needs help getting out of its own way,” a neighbour told me. "If the bigger leaves aren’t picked, the baby ones in the center won’t get enough sun.
” Early on, when I was plucking out only a leaf or two, I would pop them into my mouth. A few weeks in, when I had handfuls of lemony sorrel and peppery arugula every other day, they went into salads, sautes, frittatas and quiches. One day, I threw two fists of arugula into my blender with garlic and olive oil.
I tasted it, added salt, pepp.