Treasure Map

I see I haven't written in over a month. I got discouraged. Easy to do maybe. Maybe not. At any rate, I find myself on this Memorial Day Weekend with not much to do. Don is watching the Indy 500 on television. After 24 years of marriage I have learned to watch, even love, football and college basketball. But I cannot, cannot, sit and watch cars go around in an oval. It's beyond me. So I am writing. I want to show you a picture of our Treasure Map this year.

We printed out this map new for 2012. Last year everything was in a slightly different place (crop rotation). This year, it is the map of where all our secret treasures are buried in the earth. Seeds, tomato plants, onions by the hundreds, all manner of peppers, hot and mild, and many more. This year we are even attempting rutabagas. This is new for us. When I bought the seeds, the woman behind the counter said, "You must be from the U.P." 

"Why do you say that," I asked, mystified. "Well, everyone from the U.P. grows these to use them in pasty's," she said, confident in her assessment. I grinned, "Nope," I said, "from the lower peninsula." She seemed disappointed.

Now, take a look at these 30 beautiful bottles of red wine.

It came out great. And it's delicious. Don't know if you can see the label in the picture or not. We called it "Black Dog Wines," with a picture of Boomer on the front. Our way of honoring him. We ordered the juice from Napa Valley. The box was dented and some leaked out when we received it. So we had to add a bit of red wine when we made it. Nevertheless, the bottles turned out to be around $3/bottle which is pretty cheap for a truly lovely, summery-light cabernet sauvignon.

And the strawberries? I needn't have worried. We started last week and have been picking at least a quart a day. Every day. I've made two batches of freezer strawberry jam, and have frozen three of four quarts already. We went to a party last night and I took lovely, lovely strawberries, all picked over and lightly sugared, to spoon over vanilla ice cream. Oohs and Aahs everywhere.

It is a wonderful feeling to have this perfect produce. I walked to the fridge in the garage this morning in my pj's. It was about 63 degrees, pale blue sky and a light breeze. I went to get a few strawberries to put on my cereal. Life is good, I thought, smelling the ripe strawberries. The farm is good.