Barely a week after I dried the peels of the last of the season’s oranges, blossoms appeared to herald the next harvest. The circle of life, in orange.
It’s the new life that draws me to the garden and my eye to the green. They’re my charges, these trees and shrubs, these herbs and flowers. When the warm sun is on my back and I lean in to admire a new shoot up close, there’s love, there’s peace. There’s escape.
This column accompanies this recipe. Read Part 1 of this two-column series here.
But it’s not only the green. Every new touch of verdancy on a rose bush that had been severely pruned in July and looked all but dead; every tiny shoot on the bougainvillea that we cover every winter to save it from frost, is magnificent and inspiring, but nothing when compared to a fruit tree in blossom. In its full bloom, the orange or lemon tree is the belle of the ball, the starlet on the red carpet in the dropdead delectable garment that all other eyes will envy. It’s a tree in its prime, in full blush, flushed with success. It’s conquered the winter, the frost,…