It's early March, and, not unusually these days, it's already beginning to feel like spring. That's very bad news for some countries (though we've done a lot to reduce both global warming and the effects on the worst hit countries) but in our climate here in Bohemia, it's not so bad.
It's one of the days of the week when the multi-generational co-housing my husband and I moved into the year I turned 62 has its joint meals. One thing we both love about these meals is that we get to do just what we like and what we're good at. For my husband that means cooking-- for me it means foraging sometimes, or making something like bread or yogurt. Sometimes it just means sitting and keeping the cooks company. Living in this community means there's nearly always someone who likes to do the things I hate-- or don't feel like doing that particular day.
It's a little too early yet to really have a lot to forage-- the nettles, which make such great, spinach-like dishes, aren't really big enough yet. Instead I've got a harvest of my indoor garden greens to contribute for a big salad. I've also gotten a couple of the kids to help me make sour-dough bread. The cooks are making beans and squash in a stew-- with a little bit of the old laying-chicken we killed a couple of weeks ago. It's strange to think how much we used to eat in the old days-- and especially how much meat. I can remember I hardly noticed what I ate back then-- and none of it seemed to have much taste. Nowadays its almost all fresh, grown right here of the really delicious varieties that are ruined by the shipping we used to do, and picked just before dinner.
I've been thinking about how delicious it all is going to be and hardly noticing what I'm doing. Now I see my big mixing bowl is full of greens. I call the kids to bring the bread and we head over to the kitchen.