Broccoli is on the short list of green veggies my son eats without smothering with some sort of sauce. I'd like to keep it that way.
In an effort to help him become one with broccoli, we are growing some. We periodically go in the back yard to check on its progress. The two plants, like the two of us, are braced against the cold. Side shoots have formed. He cut the center heads which made our first harvest official. He dropped them into a plastic bag then we hurried inside.
Anticipation of this agricultural event caused me to open the bag as soon as my coat was off. I brought it towards my nose. I was greeted by the two small florets as though they were trying to escape. They emitted a powerful, intoxicating essence. My son said they smelled green.
I knew our broccoli would not be enough for a meal so I bought some the day before. We opened this “fresh” package. My son said it smelled like air. To be clear, the air in our house did not and does not smell like broccoli.
Later that evening my son read a poem of approximately twenty lines. Without hesitation he gave a very thorough explanation of the meaning he absorbed. He did so referencing points in the poem. He responded confidently to fleshing out questions. He's eleven and a sixth grader. It was an invigorating environment. We were as one with growing, breathing and learning. Clarity was in the air.
Related Links:
Another Dangerous Habit
Mother's Day Poem - Motherly
Pleasures Of Nature
