…are out at Sep’s farmstand, just at the end of my road, a pound bag for $4, which you put in a big jar, honor system-style. The stalks are green but with a purple tint, kind of like that shiny fabric from India—what is it called? I think that if I sat on my porch and watched the trees, I’d see them bloom: colors are popping by the hour today: fuchsia bushes, canary yellow shrubs, baby-green pods born in a moment from seemingly dead grey branches. Everything is beginning to taste like it came out of the dirt, rather than a warehouse, and the breeze through the house is warm and soft, carrying the sound of bugs, birds, and a little local construction. When you spend the winter in an isolated spot, the sound of humans working is welcome: We made it.
