Of Birdsong and Eggplant

I wake to birdsong: a five note trill that bounces up a fifth before repeating.  Sometimes, the bird drops down the scale and and bounces once or twice on a low note.  I rise, intending to learn the name of this bird who so willingly sings outside my window.

The sun is becoming more generous.  The wind is gentle and warm. 
Our seeds arrive in the mailbox bringing a sudden joy to the day.  Squints tears open the bag, begins separating “his” seeds from mine.  “Mom, they sent us eggplant.”  His face is disgusted.




“Maybe it was a sample?”
“No.  They forgot the sun berries.  I was looking forward to the sun berries.”

Eggplant isn’t a family favorite.  Unfortunately, the CSA we belong to loves it.  Every week during the horrendously long season, I bring home eggplant.
I make ratatouille.

I make fried eggplant. 
I make an eggplant-tomato dip for crackers.

I press eggplant on my neighbors.
Sometimes, I let the eggplant wither in the bottom of the vegetable drawer and pretend I don’t know it’s there.

I peel eggplant then parboil it, slicing it before tucking it away in my freezer beneath the strawberries. 
If I can’t find it, I don’t have to cook it, right?

Apparently, my family came to the same conclusion:  One day, a day I’d scheduled to make eggplant parmesan, the eggplant mysteriously disappeared. 
I thought I was crazy: I was certain there’d been two eggplants in the refrigerator the night before.  But secretly, I was relieved.  Because no matter how hard you try, you just can’t make eggplant taste good.

I whipped something else up for dinner.  Something fast and easy.  Probably hot dogs.  I’m sure my family cheered.
And I found the eggplants a few days later, tucked into the drawer of the china cabinet, beside the silver I never polish.  It was my husband's idea.

I email the seed company.  They tell me there was a mistake.  The sun berries are going out in today’s mail.
All is good.

And as we turn away from the sun, the sky fills with cotton-candy clouds and the spring peepers announce the arrival of spring.
The moon is a mystery tonight.  It’s bright and full, shrouded in a thin veil of gauzy clouds.

And I realize, as I throw open the windows and pull back the covers, that I haven’t yet learned the name of the bird that woke me this morning.
Perhaps tomorrow.




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Writing in the Margins, Bursting at the Seams: Of Birdsong and Eggplant

Friday, March 9, 2012

Of Birdsong and Eggplant

I wake to birdsong: a five note trill that bounces up a fifth before repeating.  Sometimes, the bird drops down the scale and and bounces once or twice on a low note.  I rise, intending to learn the name of this bird who so willingly sings outside my window.

The sun is becoming more generous.  The wind is gentle and warm. 
Our seeds arrive in the mailbox bringing a sudden joy to the day.  Squints tears open the bag, begins separating “his” seeds from mine.  “Mom, they sent us eggplant.”  His face is disgusted.




“Maybe it was a sample?”
“No.  They forgot the sun berries.  I was looking forward to the sun berries.”

Eggplant isn’t a family favorite.  Unfortunately, the CSA we belong to loves it.  Every week during the horrendously long season, I bring home eggplant.
I make ratatouille.

I make fried eggplant. 
I make an eggplant-tomato dip for crackers.

I press eggplant on my neighbors.
Sometimes, I let the eggplant wither in the bottom of the vegetable drawer and pretend I don’t know it’s there.

I peel eggplant then parboil it, slicing it before tucking it away in my freezer beneath the strawberries. 
If I can’t find it, I don’t have to cook it, right?

Apparently, my family came to the same conclusion:  One day, a day I’d scheduled to make eggplant parmesan, the eggplant mysteriously disappeared. 
I thought I was crazy: I was certain there’d been two eggplants in the refrigerator the night before.  But secretly, I was relieved.  Because no matter how hard you try, you just can’t make eggplant taste good.

I whipped something else up for dinner.  Something fast and easy.  Probably hot dogs.  I’m sure my family cheered.
And I found the eggplants a few days later, tucked into the drawer of the china cabinet, beside the silver I never polish.  It was my husband's idea.

I email the seed company.  They tell me there was a mistake.  The sun berries are going out in today’s mail.
All is good.

And as we turn away from the sun, the sky fills with cotton-candy clouds and the spring peepers announce the arrival of spring.
The moon is a mystery tonight.  It’s bright and full, shrouded in a thin veil of gauzy clouds.

And I realize, as I throw open the windows and pull back the covers, that I haven’t yet learned the name of the bird that woke me this morning.
Perhaps tomorrow.




Labels: , , ,

6 Comments:

At March 9, 2012 at 10:59 PM , Anonymous Elizabeth Young said...

I laughed so hard at your husband hiding the eggplant in your china cabinet! It reminded me of the places my children hid food - down the side of the couch, chewed but not swallowed and dumped in their closet, in the toilet, outside, down the side of their bed, etc. I guess desperate times require desperate measures...

 
At March 10, 2012 at 5:22 AM , Anonymous Victoria KP said...

I'm with you. I can't stand eggplant. For years my mother (who is a wonderful and creative cook) tried to get us to like it. It just never happened.

 
At March 10, 2012 at 5:21 PM , Anonymous kgwaite said...

You know, some things just aren't going to work. Eggplant's one of them. I had a good eggplant once. My friend roasted it by the fire then scooped it out. She added minced garlic and probably lemon juice and olive oil. Terrific on crackers.

 
At March 10, 2012 at 5:21 PM , Anonymous kgwaite said...

Desperate times, indeed! My siblings and I had some pretty creative ways of getting rid of icky food, too.

 
At March 11, 2012 at 3:09 PM , Anonymous idiosyncratic eye said...

Hehe, I love how it was your husband who stashed it! Dice it into pasta sauce, you'll never notice it, works for my aubergine-hater! :)

 
At March 11, 2012 at 4:42 PM , Anonymous kgwaite said...

Now, that I've never tried - Do you peel it first? Blanch it?

 

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