I stare outside the window of my study to witness a world dressed in my favorite colors: pink and green. An errant breeze sends up clouds of pine pollen and causes pink petals to dance through the air, landing at the foot of the crab apple tree from whence they came. Spring has arrived!
Yesterday was the first farmer’s market day of the 2006 season, and what a joy to see everyone familiar, back in their places, with gorgeous greens and plants and asparagus (it’s still early for anything more ambitious to be locally grown). I bought a bag of spinach, a bag of mixed lettuces, a bundle of asparagus, and a small bag of edible violets to grace birthday cupcakes. I may try my hand at sugaring the rest--a time consuming task made possible by the end of the spring semester and a temporary reprieve from reading student essays, hoorah! For tonight, I plan a feast of parm regg risotto, roasted asparagus, sauteed spinach, and a simple green salad. A glass of Sancerre...but back to the market...
My eyes filled with tears as I drove home, so happy to begin the season of fresh produce and letting my culinary forays be driven by what I find at the market. I feel on the verge of the best of Michigan--the gorgeous and temperate spring and summer months.
I then met best friends S and H at Zingy’s for breakfast, where I also stocked up on coffee (their house blend this time), parm regg, and the treat of fresh mozzarella (which I just enjoyed on a homemade rustic pizza). Then S and I journeyed on to Birmingham, where I whiled away the afternoon reading and writing while S was at a party. We hit Trader Joe’s on the way home and I picked up a dark chocolate Toblerone (yummmmmm), a bottle of $6 Bordeaux (eat your heart out, Robert Parker!), San Pellegrino, and some French Sea Salt for the bargain price of $3.99 for 15 oz.!
Today I went running at the park, and was transfixed by the transformation. The last time I ran there was at least a month ago, and though the swamps were alive with frog song, the park was still garbed in late winter. Today, the forest was awash with green plants and small wild violets, and the path was alive with all manner of moths and gnats, which danced in front of me. I was transported back in time by the profusion of periwinkle moths--dainty little things that sat on the path, swirling up as I ran by...
And suddenly I was back at 12 Mile Creek, sitting on a boulder in the middle of a stream, for one of the few times in my life alive to the particular moment: the gurgle of water as it passed over rocks, the quiet presence of my friends reading and writing whilst perched on their rocks up and downstream from me. That day we hiked around a quiet forest on the edge of the Smoky Mountains, and everywhere, huge clouds of these same moths would fly up and flit around us as we wound our way down trails and across streams...
And today I called back that moment and felt that sense of bittersweetness for a moment so preserved in memory and yet lost in time, and I was also wondering why, try as I might, it’s difficult to remain in the moment as it evolves, to not see a periwinkle moth and be back somewhere in the North Carolina woods. I though of Proust (who I’ve never actually read) and his famous madelaines, about the power of sensation to evoke memory. Perhaps there’s something to being a writer that makes it difficult to stay in the now, I thought, when suddenly one of these moths flew into my mouth!
And suddenly, I was in the moment, coughing and swallowing that poor moth...
Zen...for a moment....
Until I started thinking about how I’m a vegetarian (albeit one who flirts with pork) and moths are definitely not vegetable...And suddenly the Jains, with their masks in front of their mouths and noses make even more sense...
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