Okra quickly crosses that fine line between signature viscous crunch and woodiness. Large, stiff seed pods dry above kitty crack in the kitchen window.
Estival adventures came to a close last Sunday in a crescendo of violent afternoon thunderstorms. Rinsed and shaken, the collective olfactory symphony was deafening, so I snapped on a pannier and biked to school. As a steam ring rose around the bus loop, the quart jar filled with sweet cherry tomatoes.
In a former life, the boring, vacant duplexes at the end of Boulevard were filled with children. Once a neighborhood Headstart center covered with hand-painted kids, it sat derelict for years while rosemary enjoyed the absence of groundskeepers. Before contractors arrived, I dreamed of turning the building into a small neighborhood school of the arts while picking sprigs for new red potatoes. Continue reading
The okra is delicious, but after three inches it becomes woody and loses that unmistakable viscosity. Take a photo walk around the bed…