My Favorite Restaurant

   I just had a delicious brunch in what is, at this time of year, my favorite restaurant:  my front porch.  The service is generally relaxed and friendly, because that's usually how I feel when I get out there.  It's homey, and open, and surrounded by flowers, and full of comfortable furniture, so no matter how my day is going, once I'm out there, I generally feel relaxed and friendly.
   The setting is usually congenial, unless I time it when everybody decides it's time to mow, u weed wack, and blow leaves, or try out their new chain saws.  But for the most part, it's low key,  and I often have a CD playing softly through an open window, so the mood is peaceful.
   Now let me tell you about the brunch I just had:  I sauteed some green onions from my back garden, then added in some chanterelle mushrooms bought from The Mushroom Man at the nearby farmer's market, a treat that one waits all year to have, as they are quite seasonal.  Next in went some baby carrots and green beans, also from my back garden;  then some summer squash from a volunteer that planted itself on the side of my compost.  Next, some garlic and basil and shiso, also from out back, a little hungarian hotwax pepper from my next door neighbor's garden, a couple of chopped cherry tomatoes from my friend Sarah's, and a little pepper and himalayan salt. Finally I threw on top a gorgeous egg with an amazingly yellow yolk from my friend Laura's hens.  This accompanied by a slice of oatmeal toast, also from the farmers' market, slathered in maple honey, from the Maple Lady at the farmers' market, and a big mug of tea, flavored with chocolate mint from my front garden.
   What a feast!  A delight to the eye, an adventure to the nose, a thrill to the mouth, and with the exception of the tea, which is from India, all quite local.  How blessed is that!
   I feel endlessly blessed that I have this spot of Earth that I am allowed to steward, to love and cherish and learn from and plant and sow and tend, and from which I get to harvest miracles in all shapes and sizes and flavors and colors. And then I get to dance around in my kitchen and combine these gorgeous miracles in all sorts of ways, like the brunch I just fixed and consumed. 
   Even the preparation is such a joy.  The foods look so vibrant at this time of year, and getting to wander through one's yard (or one's neighbor's) to find just the right contents is a treasure hunt unlike any other.  It never ceases to fill me with awe that a tiny speck of a seed, in ground that I have dug and amended and watered, will grow into an entire tomato plant, or pepper plant, or lettuce.

. . .and the cutting or snipping usually adds aroma to the surroundings;  never more so than with the aromatics like basil or peppermint:

        Each moment in the garden, I am aware of being part of a whole, a gigantic whole composed of every living thing, and I get to play my part by nurturing another part and then choose it to nurture me in its turn.  The sense of flow is so strong for me at these times, of give and take.  How can I feel anything but gratitude?  People visiting my garden often say,"what a lot of work goes into this!" and I always feel a little frisson of surprise.  I can spend hours "tending" my garden and feel so completely tended in turn, that it somehow doesn't register as  work, at least not in the usual sense.  Even when it's heavy "work" like turning the compost, I feels so completely at home participating in the cycle of life that the pouring sweat and tired muscles simply don't register for me in the same way as, say, cleaning out the garage.      
   I find myself wondering if I can develop that kind of consciousness for tasks that, to my mind, currently seem less appealing, more something I have to talk  myself into? I imagine organizing the basement or my tax files or refinishing some outdoor furniture with that happy smile on my face. . .but I'm not there yet.

   One of the things I love best about gathering and preparing food for my favorite restaurant : the surprises that come up.  I notice things that are ripe unexpectedly (which makes up for the things that are taking forever to ripen) and instantly, different combinations are forming in my head for the next meal.  It's an endless adventure.  And of course, creatures of all sort surprise me:  sometimes a garden snake curled into the compost pile;  sometimes a spider who has erected a gorgeous filigree across two plants. . .these sisters and brothers often take me by surprise, and I am not always grateful at first meeting;  sometimes the surprise is too great, and I have to ground and remind myself of the wonder.  But at other times, the wonder is automatic, as in the case of my friend to the right.  Ahhh,  bliss.