posted 1 year ago
Ramps are a strong sensory childhood memory for me: the scent of rich dark earth clinging to the bulbs after harvest, cold water on my hands while rinsing them off, the pungent deliciousness of fresh leaves and root, the caramelized melty-ness adorning just-fried potatoes. Yum!
My dad transplanted some from his spring trout fishing trips to the WV mountains onto our Appalachian foothills property. I would help myself to them while playing outside. Never had to tell Mom what I'd done, either. My "reward" was having to chew spearmint-flavored Trident for a couple hours after.
I miss ramps. Only knew of the broad-leafed ones - I learned something!
Aspirations: She seeks wool and flax, considers a field and buys it, girds herself with strength, opens her mouth with wisdom, and does him good all the days of her life. (pieces of Proverbs 31, NKJV)