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