Wednesday, July 2, 2008
Em got a bit huffy last night when--after I'd cut up and sauteed that beauty above in some olive oil and garlic, throwing in a huge handful of the stringbeans I'd also grown in my garden, peeling some tiny little carrots for N to eat, and chopping up a bunch of cilantro and parsley for garnishes--I declared that it was more than likely that I was prouder of growing that zucchini than I was of growing her and N.
Why, yes, the committee *has* bantered my name about for the Mother of the Year award. Why do you ask?
Still, it's a little bit true. Who knew I could actually GROW stuff? I mean stuff from the ground? It was sort of a given--the spectre of infertility aside--that by virtue of being female, I would have a better than even chance of birthin' babies. But growing edible foodstuffs? We are not a agrarian family, to put it mildly. This idea that I was able to take some soil, a few seeds, one or two seedlings, and water, and turn them into a bunch of green things I can feed to my family...well, it feels about as miraculous as that whole water into wine thing. If I wasn't a Jew and I actually believed in that stuff, I mean.
(Was there anyone I didn't manage to insult during this post? My children: check. Infertile women: check. Christians: check. I am on a roll today!)
Anyway, I figure that all I need now are a few chickens, a cow, and a small wheat field, and I'll be Caroline Ingalls! Go me!