Alex's Salad

by Lee C. Neff

In April, our granddaughter Alexandra got off the evening plane from San Diego wearing her yellow boots and her black and white cat outfit.

Her pride and her long, red-gold braids positively swaggered. At age six, she had flown all the way from San Diego without either of her parents. Having anticipated this visit for some time, I asked her what she most wanted to do while staying with us in Seattle . Her immediate answer, “Pick blackberries!”

“But Alex, this is April,” I explained, as we walked toward the baggage claim area. Blackberries aren't ripe until August, when you usually come to visit.”

She paused for a moment, obviously wanting very much to please. “That's all right, Grandmommy. We can pick blueberries instead!”

I struggled to be reasonable, anxious not to doom her visit to disappointment in its very first moments. “Blueberries aren't ripe either, Alex. They also ripen in the summer.”

“Well, Grandmommy,” she replied, with her hands on what six-year olds have for hips, “what do you have in your garden that's edible?”

I gulped, trying to remember. “I'm not sure, Alex. We'll have to search.”

The next morning, we did. And fortunately for Alex's grandmother, we found enough edibles to save the holiday. On the front rock wall we met the huge ‘Tuscan Blue' rosemary; and in the vegetable garden, we snacked on early bronze fennel, crisp lovage stalks, the fresh new leaves of silvery-green French buckler sorrel (Rumex scutatus) and ‘Berggarten' sage, and lots and lots of chives. Juicy tidbits of all of them composed “Alex's Salad” for more than a few cool, April picnic lunches during her visit.

When Alex and her four-year-old sister Samantha finally arrived for their longed-for August visit, I felt much more adequately prepared. The new grandchild berry bed, planned almost two years ago, was actually bearing fruit, and the vegetable garden was popping with child-sized treasures. We nibbled our way through our first afternoon together, while planting fall peas, carrots, broccoli and cauliflower.

The first huge, late ripening blackberries on the monstrous, thornless ‘Loch Ness' berry vines were gobbled up—and occasionally decorated the front of a choice T-shirt. And although the high bush blueberries had just about finished fruiting, the new evergreen ‘Sunshine Blue' bushes were perfect. At about two feet tall, the young bushes were surrounded by pale yellow, ‘Butter Cream' nasturtiums and ‘Royal Ensign'—blue, yellow and white bush morning glories, whose leaves and flowers hid the ripening berries from the birds. The search for berries was as exciting as an Easter egg hunt.

Alex broadened her collection of salad ingredients with small ‘Yellow Pear' and pumpkin orange ‘Sungold' cherry tomatoes—“the tastiest tomatoes in the world, Grandmommy.” And Samantha picked the vivid blossoms and tiny, new beans of the bush bean ‘Scarlet Bees,' a new, child-sized version of the tall ‘Scarlet Runner Beans.' Salad “greens” included small broccoli flowers, handfuls of Italian parsley and basil, and the buttery nasturtium flowers and foliage. The artists were at work.

When we got all of these beauties into the house, I asked Alex what sort of salad dressing she thought the salad should have. She pursed her lips and said with authority, “Turquoise.”

“Oh,” I replied, “what an interesting thought. What made you think of that?”

“I just thought it was a pretty color for a salad dressing,” she said. Our efforts to concoct such an aesthetically pleasing creation weren't completely successful, but a few blueberries scattered over the salad did add a smidgen of blue to the green, yellow, red and orange of the artist's palette. When we squinted a bit, there did seem to be scattered patches of turquoise.

It wasn't long before Alex and Sam were back in San Diego again. The blackberries and tomatoes continued to ripen, and on warm afternoons, the flavors brought back memories of giddy garden forays and small hands searching for treasures among the leaves. I am used to being alone in the garden; I enjoy the solitude. But there is nothing as glorious as sharing the surprise of a child's delicious discovery. When I wander and weed in the vegetable garden, I try to imagine the new ways in which Alex would combine each day's ripenings. And I am still trying to perfect my “Turquoise Salad Dressing.”