Happy dirt

I nearly ran to the garden this muggy afternoon, anxious to see what the rains have wrought. A couple of huge slugs, to be sure, but then I saw the peas! Those lovely shelling peas that we smuggled in from Ireland are in full glory, enjoying the damp, cloudy days. The two dozen pods I pick aren’t enough for a whole plate of peas, but they combine well with some leftover baby carrots from the next valley over for the classic peas and carrots dish. A dot of butter will insure they disappear.

I turn to the rows of potatoes, and choose the one marked “Misc. Pots.” It’s the garden equivalent of Google’s “I’m felling lucky” button, odd potatoes that didn't fit in the red, yellow or russet categories. My pitchfork turns over handfuls of little golden fingerling potatoes. I am feeling very lucky indeed.

This is the time of Darling Husband’s home town festival, Rutenfest. Today would have been the culmination of the festival, with drummers noisily filling every corner of town, and just about every school kid dressed up to take part in the big parade. Germans grow misty-eyed about these things, so to make him feel better we throw some sausage in the pan, and hang the city’s big blue and white banner out front. There’s even a commemorative glass at his place to remind him of home and welcome him home.