October 4, 2009

It was time to tidy up the garden. I cut back the Iris leaves, trimmed the cinquefoil and excavated the weeds. Found my two basil plants. I had used a few leaves here and there with tomatoes, in a pasta dish but had never made pesto sauce. I decided it was time to make a batch before the frost killed the plants. I had been gardening all day so I was tired, not looking forward to standing in the kitchen plucking basil leaves. I grabbed a colander, found a chair on the deck and sitting in the sun with the colander between my knees I started plucking basil leaves. With a surplus of plants it wasn't necessary to get every last leaf I could just choose the best, freshest unblemished leaves. As I sat and plucked it reminded me of being a kid, sitting on the stone back door step, colander between my knees shelling peas. Eating as many as I put in the colander. What a simple pleasure that was. My favorite chore. It strikes me that the childish pleasure of shelling peas has transformed into the yuppie ritual of stripping basil.