Return of the Green
April was a month of heavy adulthood. Like many parents, I was a cheerleader for a university student who was writing essays. And responsible for gathering documents and receipts for tax season. And the main planner of Easter dinner.
Two days before the holiday, I visited the grocery store. Our family had chosen dishes for the meat eaters and for the vegetarians: one of the recipes called for fresh mint, but there wasn’t any on the store shelves. An employee said he’d check out back then returned through swinging doors with a large cardboard box. He folded the flaps back – inside there were hundreds of bunches – and handed me a sample.
The mint’s dark and saturated green contrasted with the nearby pale tomatoes and faded winter squash. As I breathed in, the sharp scent drew all my attention – and for a few moments, deadlines and obligations didn’t exist; neither did gloomy news reports, or the unseasonably cold weather.
I bought double the amount of mint needed: half for the Easter salad, and the rest for meals my family would think up. And I began to remember other spring produce – chervil, chives, and the yearly bowl of fiddleheads my parents used to bring to the table when I was a kid.
Standing in the store aisle under cold fluorescent lights, I made a silent commitment to green dishes. Willing them to guide me through the rainy season, and all the way to summer.
PERSONAL ANECDOTE
