…and this is the kale I just picked to make spanokopita. I carried it to the house in my arms, the size and heft of a small baby. And clean, damp — we had dew overnight and I watered this morning.
When we rebuilt the garden, I wondered if the kale plants would survive first being transplanted to pots to wait out the work of the backhoe repairing our septic field and then being summarily eaten to the quick by elk. Yet the plants thrived and what was amazing was that the soil was full of dormant seed — it had been a few years since I’d let kale run to seed so what was in the soil was several years old — and everywhere I looked, kale seedlings sprouted and flourished. I have to say it’s a little scary. There’s kale enough for the Russian Army and most of it is Red Russian too, a suitable welcome if they’re passing this way. I’ll offer them spanokopita, Portuguese kale soup with potatoes and sausage, saag paneer, pizza, a salad (a big salad).
And if you’re passing, I’ll gladly fill a big bag with kale for you. Please?