Some years when I plant carrot seeds in late August, I feel like a chump. Once again, irrational hope has triumphed over the certainty that Bad Things will happen to those carrots over the winter.
Still, I protect the young shoots with hoops and row cover in October, then heap straw over them as winter hits hard. When a big storm comes through and lays waste to the row cover, I think, ah well – the frost will get them, or the voles.
But every now and then, the first day of spring comes and I know all over again that hope is bred-in-the-bone for a very good reason, and that reason is why I garden.
I LOVE to EAT.