Sunday 18th September 2011
My son, Zephyrus, goes to a brand new school. In fact when he started, it wasn’t even built. The school was founded 2 years before he began & was set up in porta-cabins. The oldest kid in the school was 5. They had a big playground with a drinking fountain & a canape for the summer months. It had a home-counties feel to it rather than a big city school.
They also had a vegetable patch where twice a week small groups would be taken to explore, water or gather what mother nature had provided. From 4.30 until 5.00 everyday, parents were encouraged to visit the patch & sample anything the kids fancied. Zephy & I went there often to taste the strawberries or chives or scratch around for a potato or two. Whatever we brought home, I would make a point of putting it on Zeph’s plate. Be it a tomato or a baby new potato, it would always put a smile on his face to know that he had played a part in it getting to his plate.
When he moved to the newly built premises, the vegetable patch along with the school, stopped being a little suburban institution & became an inner-city facility. Zephy’s class stopped going to the patch & if we ever looked over the surrounding wall to the patch, it looked like a work in progress.
Our days of digging in the dirt were over.
Just before Zephy finished school for the summer, my wife went to pick him up & as they left the building there was a cardboard shoe box perched on the reception counter. Inside was a notice saying; ‘Garlic. Please take me home.’ So they rooted around in the box & brought home a couple of bulbs.
I used it to make the garlic butter. 🙂