Late yesterday afternoon (I should explain that in French time, when people say "afternoon" they mean the hours between noon and eight p.m., dinnertime. "Evening"--la soirée--begins at eight and may include social activities. "Night"--la nuit--is when ordinary people are in bed. This can get one in trouble. For instance, once in northwestern Ireland we were to pick up a friend's house keys from a third person sometime during the afternoon. We arrived to pick them up about 5 pm, by which time it was already evening for the fisherman in question. Hard feelings all around.)

Late yesterday afternoon when I finished reading the Life of St Antony (don't ask) I decided to take a little walk across campus. I would drop my library books off at the library and go on to the wooded park with the Haida totem pole where I like to sit on the bench and figure out how a thunderbird becomes a raven becomes a medicine man becomes a killer whale turning into a wolf. It's the killer whale with flopped-over dog ears that gets me.

Then I walked back, stopping off in the student vegetable garden, where I hadn't been in a while. I thought I might forage something to put in the risotto my husband was cooking. There were some peas, but I thought I should leave them for the students. The garden was lovely. Full of herbs (I helped myself to some rosemary and mint), nasturtiums, lettuce (going to seed), one big red strawberry, and a sunflower that was about ten feet tall. There was an adirondack chair painted funky colours, but I was shy to sit in it. I checked on the apple tree, the plum tree and the kumquat bush.

My husband had added asparagus to the risotto.

Keywords:

risotto

Beverley Bie Brahic