Irresistible tulips. I succumbed to their charms during recent visits to the garden shop in March. One bouquet for me, one bouquet for my mom, and a small pot of three to keep the daffodils and crocuses company on the balcony.

For almost 2 weeks now -- ever since I read Gayla's writing prompt -- I'd been wanting to respond to it. But I had my doubts, and still do. Am I recalling the distant memory of my first plant? Or am I remembering a childhood dream? Most of the details -- except colour, location & the identity of the person kneeling beside me -- are vague and dream-like. Yet, I've replayed the scene in my mind many times over the years and can't shake it (much like an earworm). And since the second writing prompt is coming tomorrow, I'll stop procrastinating and tell my very short story now.

Yellow flowers in an old, white-painted tractor tire next to the garage: these were my first plants. I think I was about 4 or 5 years old. The memory (or dream) has a definite pre-school feeling to it. I was proud to be allowed to help Mom with a grown-up task. We carefully placed the flowers with the cheerful faces in the holes we had created with our trowels, then firmed soil over the roots. "Pansies," Mom said in response to my question.

After that mother-daughter gardening session, I don't recall helping with daily watering or weeding so those particular pansies may have been under my care only momentarily. But other versions of them as well as violas have been regularly appearing in gardens I've tended over the years.

When I inherited my community plot in Spring 2011, it was badly overgrown and tangled with weeds and neglected plants. I removed everything, except these yellow pansies, which cheerfully welcomed me to my new garden home and connected me with my first (remembered) plant.

After typing the final period and now just before hitting publish, I will say again I don't know if this is memory or dream...but perhaps it doesn't matter.

“Beauty is not caused. It is.”
― Emily Dickinson

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Addendum: In response to Kathryn's query, here is how I spent Earth Hour -- enjoying a warm and nourishing dinner and lively conversation with my Mom.

Recipe in development -- basically it consists of alterating layers of (1) whole wheat tortillas, (2) a mixture of corn, peppers, salsa, seasonings, and "refried" (lard-free) black beans and (3) a mixture of cottage, cheddar and mozzarella cheeses, all baked in a spring-form pan.

I've been a busy dietitian so although I did manage to get some seeds sown, I haven't had time to blog about the garden. Here's a quick catch-up post, featuring the early bloomers during the past few weeks:

Iris reticulata, February 16, 2013

Galanthus nivalis (Snowdrops), March 9, 2013

Crocus chrysanthus (Snow Crocus), March 9, 2013

Amaryllis

By  CONNIE WANEK

A flower needs to be this size

to conceal the winter window,

and this color, the red

of a Fiat with the top down,

to impress us, dull as we've grown.

 

Months ago the gigantic onion of a bulb

half above the soil

stuck out its green tongue

and slowly, day by day,

the flower itself entered our world,

 

closed, like hands that captured a moth,

then open, as eyes open,

and the amaryllis, seeing us,

was somehow undiscouraged.

It stands before us now

 

as we eat our soup;

you pour a little of your drinking water

into its saucer, and a few crumbs

of fragrant earth fall

onto the tabletop.

 

Source: Poetry Foundation

Wintery chill.
Wonderfully still.
Solitude with nature.

A couple of weeks ago, while seeking the perfect recipe for the abundant peas, I stumbled upon one of Martha Rose Shulman's Recipes for Health: 'Bouillabaisse' of Fresh Peas with Poached Egg.

When Sophie and Kathryn tweeted their approval of this recipe...

...I decided to make it soon -- the coming weekend, in fact, to coincide with the final pea harvest of the season. But because I'd be spending all Sunday afternoon at a community garden work party, I modified the method for the busy gardener.  Based on what I actually did for reasons of practicality and time management -- not because I think I can do better than Martha Rose Shulman -- here are my suggestions:

1) The evening before: Shell the fresh peas and store them in the fridge. (I didn't have enough 'Green Arrow' shelling peas so, inspired by Sophie's post, I improvised and shelled some of the larger 'Brazilian Snow Peas'.)

2) The next morning:  Make vegetable stock. (Now, even though the recipe states you can use water, I wanted to use stock but didn't have any on-hand. I was also out of onions. So I got up a little earlier than usual to shop, chop and simmer. I followed this basic recipe and used a slow-cooker; next time, I will make Lucy's version.)

While the stock is simmering, par-cook the potatoes and set them aside. (I'm still perfecting my par-cooking method but I like to slice the potatoes, place them in steamer basket, and then steam them over gently boiling water until they're about three-quarters done.)

When the stock colour and flavour are "just right", turn off the heat and strain the stock. Return the strained stock back to the slow-cooker, add the par-cooked potatoes and turn the heat to low before going about your other chores. (For me, this meant sorting, chopping and sifting compost at the community garden. In a way, just like making stock!)

3) Early evening, dinner-time, about 15 minutes before serving, finish and assemble:

Add peas to slow cooker; turn heat up to high. Poach one or two eggs to the partly-set yolk stage. (I "cheated" and used an egg poaching pan.) Slice the crusty end off a rustic multi-grain baguette and place the bread slice at the bottom of the soup bowl. Place the poached egg on top of the bread. Stir the herbs (I used fresh parsley and tarragaon) into the soup and then ladle the soup into the bowl and serve immediately.

Now before your look at the following image, if you haven't already viewed the New York Times recipe page, please do so. The accompanying photo looks much more appetizing than mine, which I took on a very empty, very hungry, very impatient stomach that wouldn't wait for any fancy, schmancy food styling:

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 Highly recommended. This bouillabaisse will be on regular rotation during the next pea season.

'Dwarf Grey Sugar' Pea Transplant, April 22nd 'Dwarf Grey Sugar' Pea flower, May 26th

Shoots, leaves and early blossom on 'Brazilian Snow Pea'Very soon, though, the dwarves and giants got into a bit of tangle.

Pea flowers & tendrils, June 3rd

And 'Green Arrow', being of modest stature and slower pace, got caught in the middle & was almost overwhelmed.

'Green Arrow' Pea flowers

In the end, everyone finally decided to shake hands and share teepees.

Pea teepees, June 3rdThere was peace, if not order.

Wild & Wonderful, June 24th

And there was abundance.

Brazilian Snow Pea harvest, June 25th

Final pea harvest, July 16th

Peas, sweet & edible, July 16th