Currently, a single look at Les Pierres’ veggie garden would make anybody realize that the Days of Wine and Roses are in serious competition with the ones that have a Raving Ratatouille on Repeat and choosing one over the other is not only impossible but faul and abhorrent when food is that beautiful and blooms burst with taste.
When I say ‘I wonder how we got here’ I don’t necessarily mean that I have forgotten the path leading us to this paradise, or even every glorious and/or disastrous side road we took; it’s just my way to express gratitude.
The more capacious and bearing our tiny vegetable garden has grown over the years, deductively designed to foremost feed its two inhabitants all year round, sort of, admittedly of the larger kind with appetites accordingly so with some supportive help from other local producers, the more humble I get to feel, being allowed to bring its secrets into play when visitors arrive and Ivory, following my detailed instructions to the letter by taking them on the ‘audio tour’ through this wonderland of green growth, ends the peregrination at the viewpoint over the valley that never fails to enchant anyone, where I await them casually, showing off with my translation of it all into fancy nibbles, saying “Now you’ve seen our garden, let’s taste it”.
Finding an ally in all things growing around us, as much the friends our friends come to reconnect with as we ourselves are, instantly obliterates this tackiness because of its truthfulness. Jesting with awkwardness perhaps, but true nevertheless, never more or less.
