Springtime has unsettled o’er New England. Some days are hot, some are cold, and you don’t know what you’ll get. Unpack your tee-shirts, but keep a wooly sweater in the drawer, you live in the land of layers. If the day spends a few hours warming up, and the night slowly slides toward cool, then you’ve had a perfect day.
I was raised in a small town and hoofed it straight to the city after college. This small city works for me because I don’t drive, but I need freedom to travel about and get things done. I can reach the subway in ten minutes, and we own a house with a yard. West Somerville is urban enough.
Another small-town transplant and I agreed once that visiting our parents was almost to the country and that we needed some country every now and then.
This Spring, I’m growing strawberries and tomatoes (the way we always did at home) and herbs. It’s the kind of garden a small town girl living in the city can have. Country -dwelling Facebook buds of mine update their status by talking about they crops they have planted just the way they told everyone about boiling sap for maple syrup and curing meats. I love hearing about these things, and maybe my garden will be bigger and more varied next year. This year, I’ll be happy with strawberries that weren’t shipped half-green and fresh tomatoes and herbs that know of neither freezing nor drying.
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