Harvest

I live in one of the most agriculturally diverse places on earth, and I can’t grow a garden. It’s true. I’m horrible about timing, planting, weeding and oh – the watering that’s required to actually have a successful crop of anything.

I’m not a tender. I don’t tend.

My husband, on the other hand, has the patience for these things. He coddles his baby fruit trees and has planted blueberries in the backyard. The problem is, I don’t like blueberries (I know, I KNOW!) and the fruit trees are so young we’re only up to about four pears a season. But last year when he said he wanted to use the unused garden bed for garlic, I thought hey, this is a project I can really get behind. Because, garlic? It’s right up there with bacon, avocados and hot peppers as far as things I can’t live without.

One of our friends is a farmer south of here and he sent us six varieties of garlic to plant. SIX. VARIETIES. OF GARLIC. Last fall we prepared the soil in the raised bed, planted the little garlic cloves as prescribed and waited. For months.

A couple of weeks ago it was time to harvest the first varieties. I would tell you which ones, but the little map the kids drew has been lost and so we have to use technical terms like “the purple one” to describe the different types.

My favorite part about the harvest is that my entire garage smells like garlic while it’s in there drying. We’ve saved a couple bulbs out for immediate consumption, and every meal is planned around it.