One For Them

We grew artichokes.

We cut artichokes. 

We ate artichokes.

But I didn't harvest all the artichokes. After all, they are flowers and my pea-sized, pseudo-scientific brain located somewhere between my ears was curious: What would happen if I left an artichoke on the plant?

So I did. 

Soon the flower grew large and larger, then like a good flower, it bloomed. The petals were purple in color and hair-like in quality and the bees loved it! At any given time five bees have been crawling in, around and through that gorgeous forest of blooming lavender-colored petals.

The scientist in me reveled at the beauty of the flower, the industry of bees and amazing Mother Nature!

I might have left an artichoke on the plant but it turned out being one for the bees. So one for them and some for me.

Hidden Hearts

"They've grown a lot," I said poking around the garden at dusk.

"Hmm,"Mr. Wonderful said sipping a glass of Sauvignon Blanc. 

"They're looking good."

"Hmm."

"Big and round."

"When can we eat them?"

When it comes to home improvement projects everyone wants them to be finished yesterday. And when I say "everyone" I mean "me". When it comes to home-garden produce everyone wants it be be grown and picked last week. And when I say "everyone" I mean Mr. Wonderful. The man is so patient in countless facets of his life: he can work in an unpainted office; eat in a wet-plaster walled kitchen; and live in a total disaster zone but he cannot wait the 126 days for the veggie plants to produce edible veggies to be cooked and consumed by his veggie-loving self.

Argh! Gourmets! 

That's why it's up to me for 126 days to do the watering, weeding and mulching. For 126 days I'm in stealth mode trying to fend him off from picking the veggies before they're ready. For 126 days I sneak out in the morning before work and the evenings after work to make sure that Mr. Wonderful hasn't plucked the artichokes, tomatoes or squash before it's time. As a famous megalomaniac once said, "I will pick no veggies before it's time." Or maybe it was an actor playing a megalomaniac? Anyway, for 126 days I protected the artichokes until they were ready. Then I cut the flowers, steamed and served them to Mr. Wonderful.

He made a mustard vinaigrette. Then we peeled off the dry outer petals, plucked off the meaty inner petals and dipped them into the vinaigrette letting our teeth scrape the meat off the petal. Finally we removed all the petals and got to the hidden heart of the artichoke. With fork and knife we dipped the artichokes into the vinaigrette and ate those tasty hearts. Their flavor was nutty and so worth nurturing and protecting for 126 days.

"Very good," Mr. Wonderful said laying his fork and knife across his artichoke-less plate.

"I'm glad we planted artichokes this spring," I said refolding my clothing napkin.

"Hmm."

"They're a lot of work to grow and eat."

"Hmm."

"But the nutty flavor is so worth it."

"Can't we eat more tomorrow?"

Argh! Gourmets! 

"Those People"

“Your front yard is looking less dead,” our retired neighbor bellowed from his porch.

“Thanks, Harold,” I said closing my car door, the hot engine still clicking from the commute home.

“What’s that green stuff growing up front?”

“Onions.”

Harold looked at me with wide eyes.  “Onions?”

“Yellow, white and—”

Slam!  He disappeared behind his front door.

Clearly Harold did not approve.  Yes, we were “those people” the ones who planted onions (shocking!) in the front yard, in the primo spot right next to the house usually reserved for roses.  In his eyes Mr. Wonderful and I had suddenly transitioned from fixer-uppers to (gasp!) farmers.  And if there’s one thing suburbanites, at any age, dislike it’s farmers.

“You hoo!” our smiley neighbor said pausing before our yard in her sneakers.

“Hi Mary, out for a walk?”

“Did you know you’re the only house in the whole neighborhood with a supermarket produce section in the front yard.”

“I didn’t know—”

“Well you are,” she said with a sniff.  “I’d never plant food in the front yard.  It’s so… ratty,” she said waving her arms with a pleasant smile.

The division of garden planting goes back to caveman days.  Beautiful ornamental flowers were planted in front of the cave and ugly kitchen plants were relegated to the cave’s back rockyard, as far away from sight as was hominid possible.

But times had changed.  For one, people weren’t wearing animal skins anymore and two, everyone was a foodie now and foodies loved… food.  So why not plant edibles in the front garden?  Onions are rather good looking plants… if you close your eyes.

The next day Charles waved from his front garden.  “I see you planted onions—”

Here we go again!  Another annoyed neighbor.  “I can explain,” I said crossing the street to him.  “We love food and why not plant what we love—”

“Look at this,” he said pointing to a spiky purple plant in the middle of his gated front yard. 

“That’s an… artichoke,” I gasped.

“Yeah!  It’s beautiful and delicious!” he said laughing.  “We planted one when we first moved in and now we have half a dozen.  Have you ever eaten home-grown artichokes?”

“No,” I said smiling “But I think I will now.”

The thing about a diverse suburban neighborhood is although lots of people may not understand what you’re doing, maybe one friend will.