This week I harvested this from my asparagus bed. It's not much, but it's only the 3rd year and asparagus takes a long time to establish itself.
Because asparagus is a long-term project, we never grew it in any of my childhood gardens. My parents would say that they didn't even know if we'd still be living there in a few years ... they said that over and over again as we proceeded to live in the same home for 10 years. But before those 10 settled years, we had moved a lot, and they never seemed ready to put down roots.
I have longed for roots. I've longed for a place where you can plant asparagus, or fruit trees, and expect to still be there to see the harvests. I've longed for a geography to match the longings in my heart, with no thought to "resale value" or "general market appeal". Why should we all live in soulless boxes just so there is no offensive mark of our personality on the place that might put off a potential buyer?
So these asparagus spears are much more than just a pitiful little harvest to put out on the dinner table. To me they represent the roots I've put down here. They are the mark of me on this land, and they are my intention to stay here and continue to make it my own.
In the last few weeks we put down an offer on a 4 acre parcel of land, and tried our best to negotiate a price we could afford. It didn't work out, but leaving that disappointment I come back to my asparagus. This little city lot is not large, but I still have the asparagus.