This past weekend we had to come to terms with the passing of a loyal and much-loved... rosemary plant.
If only we lived in Texas, we could plant her in our yard and watch her thrive. My Mum had a huge rosemary bush in her garden. The dogs would rub up against it and smell yummy. And the psychology building at UT Austin had a HEDGE of rosemary out front. You could rub your hand along it as you passed and smell its herby perfume. For you non-Texans reading, yes, Austin has hedges of rosemary. And rivers of beer. And spigots of chocolate fondue in every kitchen. You could even upgrade to Mexican chocolate, with its hint of cinnamon and cayenne - mmmm. Ok, so maybe not the beer and chocolate part. But Austin is pretty awesome, and any state that can grow giant hedges of my favorite herb is a land of fairy tales in my book.
I'm sad to admit that she died. She's been a loyal food-flavorer for quite some time now. So I cared for her remains this weekend. Dust-to-dust, ashes-to-ashes; she's in the compost bin now. Except for her leaves. They're in a large baggie in the pantry. She will continue to give, and continue to be appreciated by our family for quite some time.
|Oh Rosemary, what has become of you?!|
|Oh, a lot of rosemary.|
Oh, and have you ever heard someone say, "Oh, grow mint. It's impossible to kill!" Well, they're wrong. We killed our mint again. Another case of dust-to-compost bin. And a little baggie of leaves in the pantry.
|Here's our mint.|
|We managed to kill it.|
But the Boston Ivy? It must have sucked the CO2 away from the herbs, because it's growing like gangbusters. That's the plant I brought in on a whim, not really even caring if it survived. Go figure...
|Survival of the fittest. Ivy gets the entire window to herself.|