Last week’s box was a real treasure trove. I was expecting a selection of mostly imported organic produce (carrots, broccoli, radishes), much like what I find at the co-op, since it’s still early in the season. But we were pleasantly surprised by such delicacies as fresh tender lettuce in addition to greens, and rhubarb and spinach—all from the farm. Darling Husband loves his rhubarb, and so do his sons, much to his chagrin. With some token fruit, the only thing missing was potatoes, but that gives me an excuse to keep going to the farmer’s markets.
Yes, that’s plural. For there are now two markets “nearby”: The University District, with it’s all-weather can-do attitude, and the yuppified-crafty Redmond Saturday Market, which opened up last week. Both markets trumpeted spring loudly, with troops of tomato starts lined up at attention, ready to march home with you. All sorts of heirlooms, paste, and cherry, all vying for my attention. Almost enough to distract me from Perfect Pete’s disappearance (Where did he go? Is toffee seasonal?).
But my arms were too full of honey to do anything but lust after the tomatoes. Precious liquid gold, my Darling husband had chatted up a local beekeeper’s son, and ordered up two gallons of the sticky stuff. He was planning to pick it up, really he was, but Number One was sick enough to skip orchestra rehearsal last week, so the lugging fell to me this week.
Which means I shall send Darling Husband, aided and abetted by Little One, to that selfsame market during my absence, to pick out this year’s tomatoes (and get spuds and Golden Glen butter). My mother’s day present to myself will be transplanting those gems to the beds and pots prepared for them last week. That, and munching on whatever goodies come in this week’s box and from the
