Upon returning home, I found that my wee little garden was looking a bit sad. Lettuce had gone to seed, the nasturtiums were stunted and sickly, the grasshoppers had nearly wiped out one of my tomato plants, and the five carrots that did germinated were still in the seedling stage, quivering there in the wind like they were nervous or something.
It happens. (Not the nervous quivering; the sad garden). It happens when you're away for a critical month in middle of the growing season. Can't tend a garden from three states away. (Though, thankfully, the watering efforts of the hired mow-boy did keep everything from dying out completely).
My ever-so-thoughtful neighbor must have heard the hollow, empty sounds of my refrigerator's crisper drawers, because, before I could even be disappointed with my garden's slim pickin's, she had sent over some of her bounty.
Carrots and Turnips.
With little cling-ons of earth, they seemed so rustic and wholesome and good.
I didn't even want to wash them. I just wanted to stand there and look at them, all earth-rubbed and orange and purpley-pink. I wanted to photograph them. I wanted to eat them, crunchy and raw, one after the other, like some wabbit would do.
Then, I remembered a way with carrots that is equally good, and maybe even better than raw (though, of course that could be hotly contested by the wabbits). For a late summer's dinner alongside grilled chicken or pork chops: Hot Buttered Carrots.
Fresh carrots, cleaned, and whacked up into half-inch chunks, plunked under cold water in a pot set over medium-high heat, gently boiled until firm/tender, drained, then fuddled around in the warm pot with a dollop of butter, a light showering of salt, a drizzle of honey, and maybe even some fresh, minced parsley.
Oh, my.
Uh, after second thought [she said, quivering nervously] how 'bout we just keep this one between you and me.
How 'bout we not contest it with the wabbits. How 'bout we not even mention it to them.
They might try it. They might like it. They might like it too much, and then where would we be?
Right.
Just don't mention it.
