Grasp the Nettle

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Lunchtime came at three. Overshot the usual hour by staring at screen and typing in the zone, very consuming.

Charlie needed my computer to do a treatise on crank-pulling, and sometimes this is the only thing that pries me off my seat, so away I go.

Time to forage in the yard and up into the ‘steppes’.
Result: a fine mature leek!
I cut it flat to the ground. You can get away with ‘shaving’ at least once, and those robust roots do good work sending up strong new fronds.
So much easier than babying the tiny threads of King What’s His Name (the variety) to a size where they would not be flattened by a drop of water .

Other greens: nettles transplanted from Bolinas lagoon.
We used to have to ride 30 miles–3,000 foot elevation–round trip just to get them until
it dawned on me that simply pilfing a few roots, replanting and keeping them watered would keep them alive, and we could get away with far less riding…
(Don’t tell my bike blog readers…)
I don’t mind handling nettles–now that I know what is happening and how long it will go, the stinging is just a Fascinating Sensation.
It lasts a short while–unless you picked a lot– in which case the tingle will remain into the night.

Generating dreams of ants building roadways in your body.
It’s rather interesting.

Then there’s reliable, painless ol’ chard.

It’s the most giving vegetable of all: it refuses to die.
In a drought, the tough old stems just wait it out.
Also gathered rocket, kale, & parsley.
Chopped everything all together , sauteed for five minutes and piled the pasta from last night on, dotting with whole olives.
Forgot to drink tea, beer or water.
So maybe girl scout cookies for dessert at six.
With Scottish Blend.
Still fixated on the notion of goin’ to the land of leeks-on-the-coins.

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