The bug and I picked a few—and by that I mean four—spears of asparagus from our yard the other day. (This is only the plants' second season after I planted the crowns, so I'm letting most of the spears grow into fronds or whatever to strengthen the roots. I'm not sure they'll ever yield a whole lot, though.) We took them straight inside, cut them into pieces, steamed them for about 60 seconds, and tossed them with a little butter and salt, and we shared them. It was the best asparagus I've ever eaten, and I'd say that even if I hadn't spent scores of hours digging, planting, weeding, and fertilizing them for the last thirteen or fourteen months. As I told Mr. Chalmers, when he came home from an errand and found me nearly in tears, this asparagus was like a different vegetable altogether from the asparagus we've been buying. I couldn't even say that freshness was the main factor: they just tasted so much more like asparagus! I guess I hadn't remembered the asparagus my parents grew in Virginia as accurately as I'd thought, maybe because when I was living at home we'd go through several weeks each spring eating the stuff three meals a day, and I took it for granted. I want the little bug to take it for granted too, but it'll take a lot more asparagus before that happens. She asked for more, and I told her next year.
These are the asparagus trenches; I weeded them recently, I swear!Near the asparagus is another little project, a shed I want to kind of fix up so it's usable in some way (recording studio or goat shed, depending on how far we get). The main thing we have to do is pour a concrete floor. And run electricity out to it. And do something about the empty window . . . It's a long-term idea.
Here are some before pictures, which I must say truly do not capture the griminess of the inside when I started on it:
I do like how it looks in this picture; maybe when it's all finished we can let the brush grow back up around it. Nature's soundproofing.
And here are some during pictures:
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