You all know spring is a sham in Minnesota, right? A downright lie. Because when the calendar declares the first day of spring somewhere towards the end of March, we still have at least two solid snowstorms left. When my gardening magazines encourage the harvest of spring greens and radishes, my backyard growing plot is still hard as a rock. And when a freak 70 degree day shows up in March or April, I always swear off my winter coat. Then I sheepishly pull it out of the closet when the next day the temperature dips below 30.
But then there are the signs of hope. And this weekend, I found them in my garden. Which, let’s be honest, is a disaster zone right now. But if you look past the rogue grass (which, by the way, turns into a thick carpet in the garden but is sparse in the actual yard), the pale and dry squash vines from last year and the pieces of fence hanging on for dear life, you’ll find the best thing ever. Something to eat.
Ahh, those faithful chives.
Hello, old friend. The chives pop back to life with no encouragement. In a perfect bunch, green and crisp. And so begins the season of sprinkling them on just about everything on my plate.
And then there’s this.
That glorious rhubarb. My first memory of rhubarb comes from my aunt and uncle’s home on a lake in Northern Wisconsin. We would spend a week there most summers playing in the water, fighting off bird-sized mosquitoes and sucking on rhubarb stalks we’d find outside.
I love seeing the leaves curled up inside the stalks like mini cabbages getting ready to fan themselves out.
Here’s hoping the last snowstorm is behind us.