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March 19, 2014

19 March 2014

On Wednesday we celebrate the dead God Wodan. Thursday goes to Thor. You might have thought that long before now the Christians would have banished references to the heathen pantheism of our Nordic heritage, yet Wodan’s Day it still be. Ralph Reed must be napping.

Wodan is a Germanic drop down from Mercury, the Roman god of communication in whose honor I frequently down a nice cold pilsner, sometimes in order to whet the dull blades of thought. Because he wanders, Wodan is also a bit like John the Baptist and paradoxically a precursor to Father Christmas, but I think if you stood Saint Nick and Wodan in the police lineup there is no way you would get a conviction.

“ I said he was skinny. This other guy looks like Yosemite Sam!”

We decided to change the name from Wednseday to Weedsday in honor of that bitty bunch of Lamb’s Quarters you got in your share today. Eat them chopped with your eggs tomorrow or in your salad tonight, but eat them soon in order to feel the power of wildcrafted goodness coursing through your veins. The Lamb’s Quarters is akin to spinach and beets, but more identifiable as a relative of Quinoa as are all the edible amaranths. including Kalaloo and Red Root Pigweed.

You also have the first Bok Choy to be seen in a month of Wodensdays, which would be a better spelling. I have thought ever since I could read that the spelling of Wednesday with that damn S sitting there lisping the D while your ears have only heard it pronounced as WeNsday, ignoring the first D entirely. And the English are supposed to be good spellers. If there was ever a day that should be renamed it is Wednesday. In Spanish,  Miercoles,  named after Mercury,  is another slurring, jamming the extra I in front of the E. I like the Italian Mercoledi better, nicely formed and more melliflouous than the French Mercredi.

That may enough etymology to go on your linguini, but there is enough for seconds. Carrots persist, as well as new salad mix. Arugula andFenyl,  as they spell it outside of Spilsby, near the English Channel, repeat their performance from last week. I don’t think the word fennel appetizes as well as tomato, for example, or asparagus. If we should change the name of fenyl to the Greek word, Marathon, no doubt it would increase that vegetable’s desirability, at least among long-distance runners and anyone put off by the lower echelon implications of the common word might be emboldened to give Marathon some run.

We got the squash and the cucumbers planted but this morning Jack Frost almost paid us a visit. I never knew he was still around here. There was a bit of ice on a cuke, just enough to singe it, but these frost intolerant varieties survived long enough for us to effort some row cover out once again to further their season. We have 27 extra days of production already invested in these 1200 feet of Summer produce, which is ample reason to float some cover on them. The task should take around two hours. Don’t worry. I won’t ply you with more senseless math again. Just because we do a lot of mindless counting should be no reason to inflict the obligation upon you.

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