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May 1st 2010 Tim Candler
Arthurian legends contain journey
toward perfection through behavior and purpose. I am
beginning to suspect that my own grail is a vegetable garden that shares
balance with me. Together we progress and sometimes there is
hiccup, and sometimes there is retreat and sometimes there is
alternative moment. Lettuce is one of these moments.
I used to dislike lettuce, and I am
still not sure of my relationship with it. It was always a
European delicacy, and whenever I saw it presented as a dish I prayed
for Mayonnaise, or sugar or vinegar or hot potato with which to give
lettuce a less dainty effect on palate. The nibbling of
lettuce leaves seemed regularly accompanied by white napkin and
skinniness of purpose that put me usually into a vulgar mood.
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I can quickly admit that in me runs a
cantankerous and objectionable nature well rounded by a cowardly acceptance
of those mores that maintain interaction without resorting to raised voices
or other weapons of strong opinion. I will of course nod my head
and agree there is nothing quite like fresh lettuce. And this even
though I still find myself staring at a row of lettuce, hankering for shape
and color before ever the word salad tong or lettuce knife enters my concept
of lettuce.
This year it has been gently pointed out
to me that I have rows of extravagant lettuce. I have statuesque
Romaine. I have fluffy Butterheads. I have those patriotic
pinnacles of Red Green All Season. And they may indeed become
beautiful voyages, but there is in their variety an absence of respectable
purpose. I have form and I have shape devised primarily to suit
appearance in the grocery store, and I suspect even good king Arthur would
have me dismissed from his court for not planting straggles of Simpson
Looseleaf.
Yet I find that five almost ripe and only
slightly deformed Strawberry on May Day has a moderating influence upon the
court. I guess it is that pat on the head some call an an 'A' for
effort and for which I try to be grateful.
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