I lived in Chicago for two years. Which means I lived through two winters, which
was one too many. (For the record, I would not have lived through the Winter of
2013-2014.) It was because of those two years that I understand what a "season"
actually is, because no, we do not have them in California. California is a
perpetually confused (though beautiful) state. When I experienced my first
spring, I cried. I was the slightly deranged SoCal girl who was sure the world
would never be reclaimed from Jadis. And then there it was. The first green
leaf. Spring Green. Crayola nailed that color...bright and untarnished, roots
reaching out of packed soil to meet the sun...sorry, momentary poetic sidebar.
I was in wonder. And though I experienced it as an extreme, I am quite certain
most citizenry of the upper swath of North America share this moment with each
other every year.
There are all sorts and lengths of the more proverbial "seasons of life", though they seem
to follow nature's seasons often enough. The poetry is famously captured in
Ecclesiastes 3, which everyone knows either from Sunday School, the Byrds, or
Footloose. There is a time to let things be, a time to hunker down and get a
job done, and a time to lift your head up and realize you are missing from your
life. And so I have been for four months. Anyone else? It is time for a return
to the table @No41. Game nights. Full stomachs. Unexpected conversation topics.
I hope to see many of you @No41 in the coming weeks and months. Feel free to
invite yourself over, even at a moment's notice. (Which will keep me honest
about my cleaning habits which is a perk.) And I hope you will likewise think
about what door you can open, what table you can meet at, what summer holds for
you.
To start us off, this is my new go-to salad, compliments of Smitten
Kitchen. Healthy with a surprisingly flavorful freshness that seems to hit
a diversity of palates just right. It's already made two appearances this past month
and it's due for several more.
