Those beetroot I raised from seed and planted an age ago – you know, those beetroot that I’ve been watching and waiting and watering and wishing . . . . Well, I vowed that I would give them a couple more weeks and then that was it. Well . . . . someone else has started harvesting them without asking. I’m not happy. I found little shrivelled beetroot corpses dug up and carelessly tossed on the ground twice over the weekend. I suspect the pair of charming (hmmph) blackbirds that have been visiting the garden and scratching up all the mulch in their quest for bugs. Not so charming as it turns out.
Reluctantly I decided that I would pull up the lot yesterday, a little prematurely, rather than lose them all.
It seems that good things come to those that wait. It was with surprise and whooping delight that I found buried treasure. OK, it’s not exactly an abundant crop of harvest festival proportions, but it’s actual beetroot that I can do something with. I am as proud as if I had given birth to them myself.
I prepared them soooo carefully. Precious, like gemstones. We had an absolutely delicious and super healthy beetroot and lentil salad with rocket and goat’s cheese, with pan fried salmon fillet for dinner tonight. Yum. Food does seem extra special when you grow it yourself.
Originally posted 11/02/2014