Basil

After a summer rain, a garden sparkles, don't you think? The morning dew makes everything feel fresh and alive. Sunday morning, the sky was still gray, but the weathermen assured us the sun would eventually come out of hiding. I was holding tight to that promise.

I grabbed my kitchen scissors and headed out to the garden. My herb and vegetable garden is very special to me (but that's a topic for another post). A family gathering had me cooking all day yesterday, and I enjoyed the variety of aromas that sprang up out of the pots and pans. Many of the fresh herbs growing in my herb garden, including basil, parsley, rosemary, and chive, found their way into a few of the dishes - quinoa salad, leek and mushroom sauce, and bulgur and bean vegi burgers. (No, I wasn't cooking Italian for this gathering - strictly vegetarian.) Soon, many of those precious friends will return to the earth, and I will need to rely on the dried herbs in my cupboard.

The herb I treasure most is basil. There's no rational explanation for these kind of things - I just love the taste and the scent. I'm reminded of my childhood, and the volumes of basil my dad would grow. Maybe my love for pesto has something to do with it, too. As I gathered the basil leaves, I thought how much I'd love to have basil all year round. That's all I did, just put out the thought that I'd like to find a small basil plant for my sunny kitchen window.

Running an errand this morning, I ran into beautiful, delicate basil plants that were organic, no less. I thought to myself, "That was fast." I sent up a prayer of gratitude - (there's nothing too small or too big for the Creator).

Having the basil plant on my kitchen ledge reminds me of the abundance of our planet, and of our family kitchen I remember as a child. I become still and quiet as I gaze at the green leaves. This aromatic plant opens my heart to the common threads that connect me to my ancestors.

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