spinach

Absolutely the best spinach on the planet is grown right here, in Wisconsin, in the dead of winter. In fact, the colder it is, the more magnificent the flavor of the spinach. (Go figure.)

This year we signed up to be regulars: all winter, every two weeks, the farmer hands us a pound of crisp, washed, best on the planet spinach. (He actually leaves it at a store. Paid by us in advance.)

Someone has to pick up the spinach within a day or else it gets passed on to someone else. I like the idea of helping others, but I’ve always been rather anemic and so I move mountains to get there in time. I need my spinach!

Ed is with his cats today. I dare not tear him away. It’s up to me.

But how? It’s not on my bus route. And it’s cold outside. Well below freezing. DOn't even mention the bicycle.

Within moments I have a plan:

I’ll ride the bus, then walk partway, then, spinach in hand, I’ll ride the remainder to campus.

Fine plan. The sun’s out. The late February birds make their pre-spring appearance on my condo balcony.





Twenty minutes into the walk I think maybe it’s time to switch to the bus. It’s nippy. The wind’s gusting a punch. I dig into my pack for my bus pass.

Oops.

Left the bugger at home. Now what? Some would pay the bus fares. But what a waste!

Resolve: walk. Walk to spinach store. Walk to office. Walk home. Walk, damn it, Put in some steps already. Zip up the jacket, give a firm twist to the scarf (it really is cold!) and walk. It can’t be more than 8 miles total. Walk already!





And so I do.