Chickens, a plot of green, maybe a goat.
Like many friends of mine, I’ve grown wistful for a more home-grown life. Those who know me too well however will probably scoff at my pipe dream. This junior urban warrior did not grow up with grass stains on her knees after all. Plus I scream at the sight of tiny caterpillars, which really does nothing for my gardening cred.
But the current Spring weather has been delivering bucket loads of sunshine and our balcony garden is, for a change, blooming. Never mind that the strawberries are miniscule and mouth puckeringly sour or that the blueberries are ripening at snail’s pace. Against many odds, our withered lemon verbena has sprung back to life and every day, a row of baby fennel gathers girth slowly but surely. Lots of lovely salad greens have become regular additions to our dinner plates. The nasturtium in particular has been very useful. A gift many years ago from a friend, it has now blossomed and withered then risen again from its potted crypt countless times. The gift that keeps on giving.
With some nasturtium trimmings, I made scones for dinner last night, since I was home alone and there wasn’t anyone around to tut disapprovingly at my meal choice. A generous handful of the leaves were snipped and worked into the dough along with buttermilk and a pinch of salt, before portioning and baking. The scones were still good the next day, so I had them for breakfast, cold and smeared with nasturtium butter.
Maybe we are inching towards a greener life after all. I’m already dreaming up names for the chickens.
Cluck Norris, Miss Omelette and perhaps McNugget.