Tuesday, June 28, 2016

Late bloomer


Now that the wild asparagus season is over and I've eaten or given away everything that I picked, I'm mulling over the casualties of this asparagus season which was an odd one.  A lot of the thin, young stalks in shallow soil on a southern exposure or a warm microclimate, popped up early only to be hit with a late killing frost. And the freak snow/hail storm in May didn't help.  The really big, thick, old stalks, which are mostly planted deep, came up unusually late this year even after some exceptionally hot, sunny days.  The medium asparagus halfway between the two extremes were victims of deer browse much more often than usual, which is maddening, but they're hungry for something fresh and green, just like me. Deer usally prefer to eat the tops of asparagus plants already gone to seed, but this year, they ate young stalks, too.

I see a lot of parallels between asparagus and humans. We all know people who showed amazing abilities and talent in youth, but whose early promise was blighted by the human equivalent of a late frost - illness, injury, loss, accident - that nipped the development in the bud. And we all know people who survived adversity in their youth, only to be mowed down by destructive forces in middle age - disease, failure, poverty - who soldier on, but whose dreams never come to fruition, like the asparagus plants eaten by deer which never develop their feathery fronds and berries.  But there are those who are like the asparagus planted in deep soil, in a sunny spot, whose strong roots and gradual development protect them from all those ills.

After the killing frost, I thought the whole asparagus crop was going to be a bust because nothing was showing up for the longest time.  It was quite dry for spring, and I wondered if that was contributing to the problem.  But then the big ones emerged, alive and well.  And they are the best of all.  You'd think that the big, old stalks would be tough, but they are the sweetest and most tender of all wild asparagus.  In the end, it was an almost normal season.  Somehow, the wild things always know what to do.  Too bad you can't have a Congress like that.


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