Bitter. Sweet.

As time marches towards the first anniversary of my father’s passing, I find myself thinking of him more and more. It could be the date itself but I think it is also due in large part to our much delayed spring. He loved the outdoors (even in the winter) but now that we are puttering around the yard getting mom settled for the season, I think of him with every turn of the spade and every new flower that bursts into bloom.

Last week I clipped some flowers but this week is even better because it’s the first harvest of the season I can eat! Rhubarb is back and loving all this rain. I am just home with 4.56 pounds of the oversized licorice coloured delight.

Fauntleroy and Kitkat will partake with me tomorrow when we settle in and watch our ‘I don’t know what season-th’ finale of Survivor together. Actually, since they moved the wrap-up to Sunday’s, we rarely watch the end together and often don’t even know who won. As a wise woman once said “it doesn’t matter what show your watching, it’s who you’re watching it with.”

The usual accompaniment for rhubarb is strawberries, but our pie will be ALL rhubarb with a nice touch of orange zest. What is left, and what I can harvest next week will become one of the truly finest jams known to man.

We will also get to enjoy fresh chives on our mashed potatoes!

On a less happy father related note, Cabernet and The Sergeant placed a lovely pot of tulips on his grave a few weeks ago to help him ring in the spring. The long, wet, cool weather had kept the blooms tightly shut and were just waiting for a nice day to explode.

Last Sunday, on Mother’s Day, someone pinched the lot. Pot and all! And no, they were not cleaned up by the maintenance staff or thrown in the compost pile. I checked. And all the decorations on other stones were left as is.

So, if there are any mothers out in the greater Fergus area, who got an unexpected gift from your usually unreliable, cheap, delinquent son (or daughter)….they are still all those things. Plus a grave robber!