One of the more major perks of having rain season move into our realm, forcing an end to all aspired expansion in pumpkins and squashes and justifying this morning’s harvest, is that this gleaning backwards adds to the fairytaleness of living in beauty.
If only you knew how many different varieties I started this journey with in Spring, sowing the seeds of love, you would, like me, extensively sing the praises of the Tromba d’Albenga, singlehandedly saving my reputation as a gardener, or a cook, or, if you want, an epicurean, because who enjoys to commemorate failure in this extraordinary world?
