I was coming back from the train tracks, with some fresh-cut wild asparagus, when I caught up to a group of Filipino boys. They were walking the same direction I was and I recognized a couple of them from subbing in their classrooms.
“Hi, guys,” I greeted them, “Are you headed to the skate park?”
“No, we’re going to a friend’s,” one of them said while staring at the knife in my right hand. He raised his eyebrows and looked at me for an explanation.
“Oh,” I said quickly, “I was collecting some wild asparagus.” Then, holding out the stalk I’d been chewing on, I asked if he knew what it was.
He shook his head.
“Try some,” I offered.
He took the woody end of the spear I’d almost finished eating before I could give him a different one, and grinned while chewing it. “I like asparagus,” he said.
“If you think that’s good, try this,” I said, handing him a tender spear with the top still on, before we split ways.
I turned onto my street while he walked on, but I glanced back to see him shouting in Tagalog to the rest of the group. The older ones (in their teens) waited for him to catch up and then listened to him explain something I couldn’t understand. The next moment he carefully broke the asparagus spear into four pieces, divvying it between them.
When I arrived home I set a pot of water on the stove to boil, and told the girls I had a wild berry story for them. Then I recounted the above scenario.
What are wild berry stories? you ask.
Any kind of unexpected sweetness we find during our day. We call them wild berry stories because we know what it’s like to find a ripe saskatoon or miniature strawberry in the woods. They taste so good because they’re a free (no cash or maintenance required), and juicy, surprise It’s the same with the stories. They’re different than a daily gratitude list because wild berry stories don’t happen everyday–just like real wild berries. Also, they’re more about replaying a conversation or capturing a moment than reciting a list of things to be thankful for. Every once in a while, around the table or tucked between covers, one of the girls will ask, “Anyone got a wild berry?” Sometimes, someone does. Then they’ll share it so the rest of us can taste it too.
…Since we’re sort of on the subject of asparagus, here are some recipe ideas. I’ve roasted, fried, steamed, and rolled it, but am still open to suggestions. Got any?
Besides harvesting asparagus from a nearby ditch, I also have a patch I inherited four years ago when we moved to our current home. I know it’s a crop that takes years to establish, and I’m afraid I’d be the kind of person too impatient to plant my own if I didn’t already have it. I’m just that way. And that’s not really fair, is it? I wanted the house because of the laundry line; I didn’t even know these green harbingers of spring lived here too. (Incidentally, Stan tells me he would’ve installed a laundry line anywhere, but I’m still glad we’re here.)
I just finished reading this book (written by two pastors, but still worthwhile, even if you aren’t the church type) and loved this quote:
If you are like me, you already feel the expectations on parents are pretty lofty. Most of us start off with the bar extremely high. When our first child was born, Debbie and I decided we would never fight in front of our kids, never let them watch television, and never feed them fast food. That was before we realized that the only way we could find time to fight was when they were watching TV and that every McDonald’s commercial had subliminal messages that hypnotized our kids to beg for McNuggets…
I appreciated the author’s take on how easy it is to run out of capacity as a parent–even if you read thousands of books and attend seminars on the topic–and how widening your circle can help.
My children (and Stan and I) re-read this favourite a couple nights ago. It’s a graphic novel on the immigrant experience, illustrated by Australian artist, Shaun Tan. The drawings are exquisite and tell a story that usually makes me cry. It’s in our public library, so it might be in yours too…
Have a wonderful weekend. Maybe you’ll stumble on a patch of wild berry stories of your own!
And, I promise I won’t blog (much) again about asparagus,