Radish journal #1
One thing that's been particularly meaningful to me this year is The Radish. Oh, how wonderful Radishes are, their beautiful fuchsia skin and crisp which flesh. We, the Farm & Garden group, went to Urban Roots to pick our seeds to grow this year. Going down the racks of seeds I knew what I was searching for - parsnips, peas, potatoes . . . . AHA! French Breakfast Radish 💗
Triumphant, I snatched the seed packet from the display and sprinted to the back table. I slapped it onto the table, thrust my finger at it and gave speech to the rest of the group to convince them to vote for us to plant it this year. In retrospect, I'm not quite remembering what I said, but whatever words came out of my mother did so with such passion and moving force (and possibly a threat) that nobody even questioned whether or not we should plant them. It was unanimous!
Oh, how I long for spring to come sooner; for the radishes to be plucked from the ground and the hear the glorious crunch of the crisp brassica being bitten into. Nothing says summer more than thinly sliced radishes lounging atop a piece of buttered and salted fresh French bread. Nothing tastes quite like a French Breakfast radish, with a rich yet mild taste, but still with that signature kick you can only get out of a radish. The sweet smell of a radish beckons me towards greatness, and always will until the day I die.