Promises & Compromises

This morning I sat in a puddle of watery sunshine, eating a piece of watermelon.

Every time I think about my garden at home, I’m a little heartsick. We knew we were missing out on the high point of the season, knew that we should be slowing down to taste the best summer produce had to offer, but — well, there just wasn’t time. We think with regret of the tomatoes and the Japanese pumpkins and the quinoa and the celtuce; the disastrous aphids we were fighting on the long beans, the beets we were nurturing, the red and purple carrots… We had to put everything aside to pack up and do house repair and concentrate on leaving…

So, back to my watery melon. It was an indulgence, a £2 piece of fruit, but an internal clutch of “Oh! Watermelon!” just grabbed us we saw it in the display. It was small, and I looked at it for days before I cut it open. Things purchased from a green grocer ought to be eaten immediately, but even past peak, the watermelon was tasty, and held an echo of sticky summer evenings spent reading and spooning up crisp, succulent sweetness. And then I saw pictures from our brilliant friend Pille‘s Flickr cache… of the tennis-ball sized watermelon she grew on her windowsill.

(Aside: I really admire Pille, [Say “Peel-ah”]and loved having coffee with her (even though I was just a little too shell-shocked, on our third day in Glasgow, to communicate coherently). She’s a sociologist, which I think is an amazing profession, she’s small and self-possessed and well spoken (in three or four languages, even). But after looking at her blog, I’m also beginning to suspect she’s not really… all human. She’s magical, I just know it. A melon on her windowsill!? Now I have to visit Estonia. I’m pretty sure if I watch her long enough, I’ll find out Pille can fly.)

Pille’s melon – and other gorgeous foodstuffs she’s grown and eaten – have made me homesick for my own little piece of gardening. This flat is very pristine… and sterile. One lonely mint plant struggles for life, and that’s because I can’t find potting soil to re-pot it . A simple thing: dirt. But I have no idea where to find it (outside of digging it up somewhere – and no spade yet), and haven’t had time to poke around. I’m not even sure where to post mail from our flat — we go outside and find a box at present — so soil is a bit beyond us!! But, in time, we’ll have a few things growing, to provide a balm for the garden we left behind us. When we came here to our flat — on the fourth floor — we promised ourselves that we’d find a way to still have our own little growing space, still have fresh herbs and do our own experimental cooking and baking. And we will… with grow-lights and pots, we’ll have our garden. In a little while, this place will seem a tiny bit more like home.

(PS – And any of you who know where we gardened – go, pick the tomatoes! Enjoy the kabochas! Use the quinoa, make fabulously colorful soups with the carrots. Enjoy. Please…)

Speaking of experimental foods, the other day our grocery run yielded …tamarind. We found a piquant looking picture at Tastes Like Home — of tamarind balls. We have two kinds of tamarind – “wet” and dried (they both look dried to me, but what do I know?), and we’ll let you know how this goes.

We are off to the museum today, to find beauty and art and music and reflection in the quieter corners of the sprawling city. More soon.

– D & T

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