The Beets were Almost Incidental

Just to report, it was a success -- with coattails.  By Thursday afternoon, I had assembled and largely prepared the dishes Lori had requested for her birthday dinner -- shepherd's pie for an entree, using the recipe from Simon Pearce in Vermont, one of our pilgrimages everytime we are fortunate enough to be in our particular "Holy Land"; mint chocolate chip ice cream for a closer, and a beet salad for openers utilizing a bed of greens from the greenhouse.  By the time the guest of honor arrived home, Merryl had also joined us and was helping out in the kitchen; the shepherd's pie was browning in the oven, the beets had been roasted and julienned, and the vinaigrette was concocted and ready for the final dressing.  All that remained were the greens.  Ah!  The greens!

With bowl optimistically in hand, the four of us -- Lori, Merryl, Tir and I -- journeyed across the driveway, opened the greenhouse door and stepped inside where we were immediately bathed in its warm, moist air.  I could almost hear the waiting greens giggle at our collective exclamations of praise and admiration.  They were, indeed, quite beautiful -- all four varieties.  Gingerly taking up the clippers, I began to fill the bowl -- first with the larger lettuce leaves, then a handful of spinach, followed by a more delicate harvest of arugula and mustard.  We "oohed" over the deep and vivid color, appreciatively sampled one of the tender leaves, and bragged on the mustard's artful variegation. 

Back inside, we rinsed and distributed among the plates, added the beets, chopped candied and spiced walnuts, feta crumbles and the vinaigrette and almost ran to the table for a taste.  It was glorious -- an explosion of gratitude and flavor in the mouth, and of awe in the heart.  We were woven into this salad every bit as much as seed and soil and rainwater and time, and nothing had ever tasted this deep and wide and rich.

As for the coattails?  Clipping the greens for that initial salad it became obvious that we had more harvesting to accomplish, and lots of salads to enjoy.  Thankfully I had roasted extra beets.  Each of the next three days we duplicated the salad, and yesterday reinforced chicken salad sandwiches with still more.  And as a bonus, I even clipped a little extra to share with a friend. 

This, to me, is real harvest.  Whatever and however much, I realized, actually comes from this nascent garden, it is only part of the produce.  The privilege of partnering in its growth, the indulgence of getting to taste its earthy proximity, and the pride of giving it away amplify the experience to almost deafening euphoria. 

It's sort of funny, actually.  All this from a simple beet salad.  Go figure.