ACCEPTING UNCERTAINTY

WITH TALK OF GARDENING, ASPARAGUS, SMOKED FISH, AND MORE

The lilies of the valley that fill my shady front yard are in full aromatic bloom, brilliant white dots in a sea of intense green. Passersby stop to inhale the scent and smile.

gleaming green leaves after Saturday’s rain, and flowers finally out, three weeks late

But the irises in the back, usually very prolific, are astonishingly bare. The leaves look healthy but we’ll have very few tall bloom-laden stems this year. That’s probably because I failed to thin them last fall, though I’d intended to because they were jammed tight and needed lifting. The autumn was all about Tashi and inside necessities, not about gardening. I managed to get the garlic planted extremely late, and to spread some manure onto the vegetable patch, but little else.

This spring I’ve already planted another rhubarb (I love it), some lettuce starts and nasturtiums, several tarragon plants, plus chervil seeds. I pulled loads of weeds on Sunday, the ground soft and the job easier after our rainy Saturday. Things are starting to look a little more organised. But I still have a few cherry tomato plants, assorted chile plants, some basil, and other odds and ends to put in. The (self-seeded) columbines are in flower all over the place; I need to find the space to insert my new starts between all the existing life.

columbine coming into bloom by the black currant bush; Star of Bethlehem near the day lilies

I have trouble finding the ruthlessness necessary to take hold of messy areas in the garden. The result is a crowded lively green space, with untidy edges, that gets increasingly overgrown as summer progresses. (My grandmother, a wonderful gardener, who made her garden in far northern British Columbia a colourful inviting paradise, would find my reluctance to move plants around incomprehensible. If she walked into my back garden today she’d think the whole thing needed to be taken in hand and she’d immediately start to “clean it up”.)

The garden is a continuing lesson in uncertainty. The level of unpredictability each year is pretty high. It would be so even if I were a methodical or orderly gardener. But I’m not: I make the occasional note to myself about plans, or where I planted something, but then forget the notebook exists or cannot find it.

how does one wisteria vine produce two different colours of flower?

This week both white and purple wisteria blooms hang decoratively from the vine on the fence. The currant bushes look like they’ll plenty of fruit this summer, but the small elderflower tree, now in its third year, is looking less than vigorous. I had hoped to have plenty of blossom that I could pick to make elderflower cordial (see the wonderful instructions in Elisabeth Luard’s substack here), but that’s looking unlikely.

Fragility and uncertainty are everywhere. There’s an awareness out in the wider world that we can’t take anything for granted or assume continuity. The garden delivers similar messages: the fragile elderflower bush, the irises not producing their usual forest of blooms, a clematis that’s struggling where once it thrived. Some of this reflects the neglect and distraction of last year. Some is the variability of nature: a heavy-snow long winter and a cold spring.

I can’t disentangle the causes, so I just need to accept and adapt. Those are words that also help me chart my course with the weight of this grief. I’m convinced that I mustn’t fight it. I need instead to find ways of living with it, breathing it in.

I don’t want to lose my grief. It’s very precious, shaped by my love for Tashi. I hope I’ll eventually be able to integrate it completely, so it becomes part of me, a weight that I carry with confident muscle. That possibility feels remote right now, with grief still a powerful wave that can tear me open or flatten me with dread.

a fading tulip streetside on my walk with friends this week

KITCHEN EXPLORATIONS: mango & smoked trout, grilled asparagus, fried eggs over green salad

As you know I’m especially interested in tart-acid-sour, that spectrum of flavours that give life and sparkle, and often depth too, to our food. With a beautiful version of smoked trout available at Wychwood Market, and good mangoes available, I’ve been combining the two. (It’s a mild echo of a Cambodian dish of green mango with smoked trout; there’s a recipe for it in Hot Sour Salty Sweet:.)

I break up the trout into small bite-sized pieces, peel and chop one or two mangoes (ripe but still with some acidity), and finely slice a shallot or two. I like to immerse the shallot pieces in fresh lemon or lime juice with a splash of fish sauce before I assemble the dish; that way they bring extra acidity and seasoning to every mouthful. I toss it all together, salt it lightly, then grate on black pepper and top it with finely chopped sorrel and mint. (They’re both in my garden; you could use different herbs of course.) Put it out as an appetizer, or as one of many dishes in a meal of intense flavours. It’s an excellent dish for a potluck.

We’re still in full asparagus season here; we eat it every day, greedily. Although I usually do the simple thing of laying it in a skillet of boiling salted water and cooking it until barely done (then dressing it in a simple combo of lemon juice and olive oil), the grill is another great option, if you’ve already grilling another element of the meal. As I do with many other fresh vegetables, I toss the asparagus in a light mixture of olive oil and fish sauce before it goes onto the grill. Highly recommended.

frying eggs (one pullet, one full-sized); eggs over salad, with my favourite chopsticks, bought in Lhasa forty years ago

And finally, another thread in my ongoing thoughts about eggs. With piles of tender greens available in this long cool spring we’ve been having, green salads are another daily treat in my house. We sometimes have leftovers of dressed salad, or washed, dried, but unused greens. Both are great candidates for my breakfast of fried eggs on leftovers. The only question is what utensil to use for eating the combination. I prefer to eat salad with chopsticks. Usually I eat my eggs over rice, or over other leftovers, with a spoon or spoon and fork, Thai-style. I’ve tried both options with the egg and salad meal... neither is ideal, but in the end I prefer the chopsticks (by a narrow margin). Let me know if you try it. And if you have a clear utensils preference, which option you find best.

Graffiti Alley off Queen Street has many vignettes. I was there the other day after an easy supper with a dear friend at the Jamaican restaurant on Portland called Chubby’s