Still, it’s the best time of year in the garden. The currants are red and fat and tart, the black raspberries are ripe and abundant enough to carry into the kitchen by the handful. The peas are ready. Some of my springtime experiments are starting to look sort of promising: the asparagus is sending up extra spears, and the three tomatillo plants are the tallest thing in the garden besides the pole beans—they’re almost up to my neck.
The kiddos are over the moon about the edible stuff popping out everywhere. They cram themselves with currants and peas and little nibbles of herbs and chard. Last week I pulled up a thin carrot to try, and May declared it the best thing ever: “Two thumbs up, Mama! I like carrots even better than currants.” Which is nuts, because the girl hardly ate a vegetable off her plate all winter. I feel as though I’ve finally put one over on her, and in the best way possible.