Summer is in full swing in the Last Frontier, and with it comes the annual harvest of my favorite shrub/vegetable/fruit (what is rhubarb, anyway?). On this delightful summer Sunday afternoon, I finally made my way next door to Southside Neighbors' yard, where the rhubarb grows. And grows. And GROWS.
Miss E. and I, accompanied by an industrious Bear, took the wheelbarrow, gloves, and a few knives, and hacked away at the monsterous plant until we had enough; or, accurately, more than enough.
Stacked like cordwood on my picnic table, the red stalks were sampled by Bear, who has decided rhubarb is much better cooked so he can't recognize it. I took an armful into the kitchen and spent the better part of an hour chopping, peeling, loading, and now cooking my first batch of rhubarb juice for later use as syrup, additive to lemonade, and if my friend A. and I can concoct it, a new form of Cosmo...
My hands are stained red, the mason jars are waiting on the counter, and my kitchen smells delicious. Must be summer.
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