Spice

I ran out of Dill on Thursday. Lamb, with garlic and dill. It was easy to shake the jar until the whole mound of dill, saved from the farm and hung to dry in the kitchen last August, was in my hand, ready to be rubbed between my palms over the roasting pan.

I scribble "dill" on the chalkboard reserved for such purposes, and will transfer it to my shopping list for the co-op (for the CSA doesn't start for three weeks yet, and it's too early for fresh dill anyway). The empty jar goes in the dishwasher.

But the clean jar in my hand stops me dead in my track: the plastic tub of spice jars is overflowing, a testament to my love affair with flavors from near and far (thus the empty juniper berry jar). There is no room at the inn for one more.

I could chuck it in the recycle bin, and then I think better: the jar will join my shopping bags in the car for the next trip to the co-op. For there I can buy herbs and spices in bulk (and they will gladly weigh my empty), meaning I can not only save a jar from the landfill, but I can buy just enough to tide me over until the end of summer, when I will be sure to pick more than I did last year.

And what do you know--I ran out of cloves on Friday.