The Greening of Brigadoon

It's been threatening to rain all weekend.  Threatening, but not really happening.  I hate this, not because we don't need the rain (we do), or that I can't amuse myself indoors (I can), but simply because it makes me crazy.  If the weather can't make up it's mind, then how am I supposed to?

I'm very weather conscious, that is to say I'm Canadian, eh?  I can tell when a storm is on the way, well before the weatherman.  I revel in good weather, loathe the bad stuff, and have been known to occasionally hide in the basement.

By the way, I have instructed my parents, who live in Meaford (100 miles straight north of here), to call me if there are tornado warnings as I subscribe to Bell and don't get the local tv station (and how idiotic is that, Ma Bell?).

But I digress...what I really wanted to post about is how the weather affects our food choices.  We want to eat food that's in season, yes, and I also think it's rather silly to cook a roast in 90 degree weather.  I don't usually want to eat -- or cook -- a roast in the dog days of summer, nor do I want to eat corn on the cob in January.  Not only are tomatoes less tasty in the winter, it just wouldn't seem right for me to eat a kitchen-sink sandwich (you know, a big ol' tomato sandwich so juicy-drippy that you have to eat it over the sink) at any other time than a hot summer day.  For that matter, some recipes are impossibly compromised by weather, too.  I have told Tom repeatedly that I cannot make a lemon meringue pie on a humid day.  I remember a friend's German grandmother who would go outside to check the air before baking anything.  How professional chefs perform in wacky weather is beyond me.

And I digress again...I really, really want to post about the amazingly early spring we've enjoyed, and how everything is blossoming way ahead of a normal season.  Last year Tom and I had the crazy idea to plant veggie seeds for the first time in ages, and so we did and, amazingly, had some success (as well as failure) and we've been anxiously awaiting proper planting temperatures to try again now.  For the record, the failures were:  beets, leeks, some nasturtiums in bad places, tomatoes (it was far too wet last summer) and summer turnips.  Success was found -- and celebrated -- in leaf lettuce, arugula, baby spinach, carrots, peppers, spring onions, sunflowers and lots and lots of herbs!

We loved going out onto the deck right from early summer and all season long to cut fresh lettuce and herbs, and the flavours were incredibly, dizzyingly delicious.  It was like eating sunshine.  Now that spring seems to have arrived, we're hungry for more.

In the meantime while waiting, Tom tried to start seedlings in the house. I had tried this many, many years ago, and gave it up as being a royal pain in the ass. That said, I'm a miserable indoor horticulturist (Tom says he couldn't stand the sound of houseplants screaming under my care):  let's just say that my best greenwork is done outdoors, where I think it belongs.  I even sought out the advice of one of my clients, Reg, who is a lovely elderly Welsh gentleman gardener who still considers himself a bit of a novice at the tender age of eighty-three.  His advice on starting seeds indoors?  "Don't bother".  Anyways, Tom got busy with pots and potting soils, special plastic mini-greenhouse kits (he loves TSC), and seeds (he loves the Ontario Seed Company)  for herbs, tomatoes, leeks (ever hopeful, he is), and checking out "how to" info,  et al.  And after all of his loving, patient care including taking over my laundry room and taking them outside during the day and bringing them back in at night, they sprouted! And then flopped over, dead.  Most didn't even get past the cotyledon stage.  All that dirt, all that work, for....?

However, only two weeks ago, he was inspired, weather-wise, to plant spinach in a couple of planters on our deck.  And, despite having the ups and downs of temperatures, they're growing like gang-busters.  Could be because they're a cold-weather crop.  Or  maybe because they're outdoors.  Whatever....I can't wait for the first taste of summer!

And, just so you know, Brigadoon is the name of our subdivision, which I've always found poetically ironic for myself...as where else would a woman named Cyd live?

And if you don't get that, well, you're just too damned young.  Look it up on the internet, 'kay?  I don't have time to explain it to you.