No Recalled Food Here, TYVM

Mmmm. Radishes. I do loves me some Springtime radishes. Crunchy, slightly sweet, with a teeny, tiny, refreshing heat, totally munchable.
And where did I get ’em? 20 steps from my kitchen door.
Know what they’re made of? 100% Radishes.

Grown in carefully-loved-and-nurtured-for-a-decade earthy loam. No mystery dirt. No über-chemicaled fertilizers (fish and seaweed emulsion only, with SoupAddict-generated compost supplemented by mushroom compost). Absolutely no pesticides of any sort. Watered with rain, either directly from the sky or collected in a barrel. Plucked from the ground with hands powered by the marvelous human combustion engine. No diesel fumes to be had.

So what’s my point? (SoupAddict won’t mention that you should know better than to inquire after a point, as SoupAddict is known to jabber on happily without one.)

Well, hold onto to your hats, because this time, there is one.

This year, more than any other year, I love my garden. There hasn’t been a day yet this Spring that I haven’t hovered maternally over my seedlings, or wandered amongst the outdoor greenery feeling utter amazement at the things … at the food … growing in my very own yard.

Like these gorgeous radishes, which I just can’t enough of. I’ve seeded more.

I made the very conscious decision this year to grow only what I know I will consume, and what I know will grow well in the conditions in my yard. Last year was crazy – too much to tend to, too much effort wasted on experimentation (interesting though it was), too many battles with pests attacking things I wasn’t overly fond of anyway.

So I’m focusing on what will bring maximum usefulness, maximum happiness. Like garlic. I have 75 garlic plants waving in the sun. And come fall and winter, I will use all 75 bulbs in various home-cooked meals containing other vegetables that were tended to by me.

In all my years of gardening, I never stopped to consider what a blessing it is to have this kind of relationship with the food I eat. Our society has removed itself so far away from the source of our of processed meals, we can’t even tell what they’re made of anymore.

This year, the red raspberry patch I inherited from the previous owners will not be just a thorny weed at the end of my property. No sir. These berries will be topping many a bowl of oatmeal.

And this year, I will not waste a single apple from my apple trees. There are far too many delicious dishes waiting to be made.

No worries, peeps. I’m not here to lecture. I’m simply here to marvel at the things we 21st century bizy-bizy-bizy humans have lost sight of.

Organic potatoes are growing in a big container positioned in the corner of the main garden. See them all nestled and snug in their compost bed? No? Well, they’re in there. And I can’t wait until I get to dig in the dirt, with my own two hands, on a German Butterball potato treasure hunt.

And best of all, I won’t have to worry about my tomatoes … or basil … or peppers … or celery … or strawberries … or blueberries … or arugula … or cucumbers … or carrots … or peas … or dill … or onions … or shallots … or rosemary … or whatever (l’ve lost track now) being recalled by the FDA. Because I know nothing has gone into these plants but love. 100% starry-eyed, gobsmacked love.