Thou still unravished bright red radish,
Thou vegetable with no blemish,
Early morning gardener, who can thus brandish
An orb more lavish than you, my radish!
If Keats can write an ode to an urn, I should be able to write one (...er, adapt his) to my radish, right?
Ah, happy, happy radish! crimson and lavish
Your leaves, ever bitter top the burnished globe;
And, unexpectedly shining in soil so cloddish,
For ever cherished;
More happy radish! more, happy, happy radish!
Okay, I'll stop now! Even the dog seems embarrassed by my radish admiration. I still have lots of words that rhyme with radish that I haven't used yet, though - biggish, catfish, famished, brandish, haggis, damp-sh, dervish...
I've never been a fan of undiluted radish (they taste almost as bad as damp-ish haggis, even when I'm famished...), but this morning, when I pulled these from the garden, I was enamored with their color. Maybe it's because my daily harvests have been the all green of asparagus, but it struck me as amazing that something so brilliantly red appeared like magic in my garden soil. I have studied the science behind plant growth, and I like to surround myself with growing things, but somehow the miracle of life is wrapped up in these red radishes more so than other red fruits that form above the soil. Tiny seed to crimson orb in just a few weeks! Amazing! I had to take a bite right then and there, even though radish is hard for me to stomach in it's pure form. It's even harder to have enthusiasm for raw radish first thing in the morning, on an empty stomach, but that just goes to show how excited I was about these radishes. Ah, happy, happy radish!
While I was outside writing odes to my radish, Brandon was busy making fresh vegetable juice for our breakfast (apple, carrot, and celery), and when I offered to add my radish to the juice he was making, he was less than enthusiastic. Actually, he seemed quite offended.