there once was a tigress who inherited a rhubarb patch. she was very, very happy that her little house in the country came with it’s very own rhubarb patch. during that first winter, she imagined the many ways she would eat her rhubarb when the springtime came.
she would eat it in pies with strawberries, and upside down in cakes like the french do with apples. she would make jams and chutneys, and eat it stewed for breakfast drizzled with fresh cream. soon spring came, and with glee she made all of these things.
tigresses are industrious by nature, and that first spring-summer she was determined to let no stalk go to waste. for many days she went to her rhubarb patch in the late dawn or early eve and harvested. and harvested. and harvested.
by june her freezer was full of rhubarb, cut to one inch, blanched and stacked in zip-lock bags. rhubarb jams and chutneys lined her larder shelves, and she tried her paw at rhubarb relish, pickled rhubarb and rhubarb ketchup even (the ketchup a winner, pickled rhubarb and rhubarb relish, not so much).
she brought bags of rhubarb to the city and gave them to friends and friends of friends, with copies of rhubarb recipes tucked inside. she gave them to the english – they love rhubarb! even with all of those things, she never did harvest the entire rhubarb patch that first year, or any year after. goddess knows she tried.
6 years later and 6 years wiser, tigress has given up the notion (noble as it was) of harvesting the entire patch. but still, there’s late dawns, early eves, and sunday afternoons this may just like the last mays. there’s baking, canning and freezing, and bags brought down to the city.
tigress has come to believe that her rhubarb patch is a magical rhubarb patch. that no matter how much she pulls and chops and bakes and cans, there will always be more rhubarb. and why not i say?
the garden is full of magic. why not a never-ending rhubarb patch?