To me, the hour-glass butternut is like one of those friends who, when you bump into on occasion, leaves you feeling energized and happy to be alive.
When I was young my mother used to sing a song to my brothers and me called, “I’m a Lonely Little Petunia in an Onion Patch.
“The shed is burning! The shed is burning!” shouted Cosmos Daka, Chris’s Zambian banana manager, over the radio just as we were finishing breakfast a few days before Christmas.
The baobab tree, with its ancient skin and root-like limbs, levitates above our landscape. To me it’s the n’anga of trees. The magical medicine man. The traditional healer.
We make stock all the time, and we use stock all the time. In soups. In stews. In risotto. In quinoa or couscous.
There’s an air of happy expectancy settling in among our fruit trees. Or maybe it’s just an air of happy expectancy around Chris and me.
