“Eat up. You’ve got school,” I say, passing her a mason jar filled with our overnight oats.
“It’s Saturday.”
“Oh. Right.” Damn it, not this nonsense again. “So… what do you want to do today?”
“More factoring,” says April, sharpening a pencil. “My teacher says it’s the key to solving polynomials.”
Whatever that means.
“Cool. Maybe I’ll help on the farm, then.”
Outside, Silas is leading the guys as they pack grain into government-issued bags destined for the Ministry of Agriculture. When I ask him if there’s anything I can do to help, he only shrugs.
“We’ve already got this under control.” He gestures atthe two assembly lines of guys filling, tying and stacking bags. “But maybe you could clean up the garden beds? We haven’t had much time to deal with them lately and now the weeds are taking over—”
“That sounds perfect.”
I’m more used to working on my own, anyway.
The raised beds do shown signs of neglect. Quite a few green tomatoes are rotting from the wet weather, so I start by gathering any that are still in decent shape to ripen indoors. We’re not wasting tomatoes on my watch. Once I’m done harvesting, I push the leaf litter around so that it isn’t smothering any of the lettuces. In the process, I unearth several slugs which I have the satisfaction of tossing to the chickens. Finally, I tackle the weeds.
I don’t recognize all the cultivated plants. Most, like the potatoes, shelling beans and dent corn, are things I tried to keep going in the little plots April and I circled each year. But there are also rows of something with frilly leaves that looks like carrot tops without carrots attached, and another plant that clearly belongs to the cabbage family, but instead of forming large heads, there are knobby bulges up and down the central stalk.
What I do know well are the weeds. I rip up patches of chickweed and deadnettle, depositing them in a large basket. By the time I’m done, my muscles are aching pleasantly. I find myself thinking that if this is what it means to be married to Sid, I’ll survive. Two years of working with plants sounds nice. What will these beds look like over the course of a year?
Once I’m done, I have a substantial basket of greens. A few are too sun-scorched to make for good eating, so I drop the detritus off at the compost pile. The rest, I carry into the kitchen.
April is still chewing her lip over the math workbook,so I let her be and hunt through the kitchen drawers until I find a cutting board. It feels incredible to wield a knife again. Natural. I chop the greens until I’ve got a large salad, then touch it up with a few dried blackberries. The noon sun is shining overhead, so I call into the fields that I’ve made lunch, if anyone wants it. Carlos, James, Wendell, and Dominick are the first to abandon grain packing duty and run inside, but they’re less thrilled when they see what I’m serving.
“What the hell is that?” Dominick asks.
“I think we usually compost these?” says Wendell.
“Compost?” Who knew Salt Spring Islanders could afford to be so wasteful? “You guys are throwing out perfectly good food!”
“Is there dressing?” asks James.
“Hold on, I’ll make some.” Carlos opens a cupboard and pulls a few bottles out—one filled with golden liquid, the other slightly pink.
“You are such babies. It’s food!” April comes to my defence, taking a forkful without ever lifting her eyes from her textbook.
But no one else touches it until Carlos drizzles a mixture of the two liquids over the leaves. Finally, they tuck in.
“This isn’t too bad.”
Thanks a lot, James.
Dominick winces. “Do we have any dill?”
“No, I want to taste this as is.” Carlos chews thoughtfully, not at all put off by my creation. “Yeah, this works. I could use this. What did you say this was, Kayla?”
“Chickweed and deadnettle.”
At that, Dominick spits a leaf out. I smack him on the shoulder. “The names make it sound worse than it is!”
“How many years were you living out there without dressing?” James asks, awestruck. At least he’s finishing his bowl. “Tragic.”
“It’s good! What is wrong with you guys?” I mean, it’s better when I serve it over salmon or something else with a bit of fat. I grab a leaf and taste it, wondering if the sun scald was worse than I thought. “Oh.”
