I planted the first seeds in garden on Valentine’s Day. The radishes were the first to emerge, and little by little, they have continued to grow and excite me. Finally, I could not take it any longer, and I had to pick them.

I love feeling the soil in my hands, the smell of the flowers and seeds growing, and the produce from my garden. It is hard work, and some days I forget how much it takes. I have come home from work only to see that I forgot to water, and the oregano is on the verge of drying up, and right alongside it, I am an emotional mess because I think of how small it was when the first leaves appeared. I grow emotionally attached to my plants, inspecting them each day, and often carrying on conversations with them. I am convinced they hear me, so please don’t tell me otherwise.

My favorite way to eat the French breakfast radishes is sprinkled with truffle salt and a *pinch* of extra virgin olive oil or a tiny dollop of butter. A light lunch of radishes with salt, a tartine, and a glass of juice sounds wonderful. Salads with thinly shaved strips of radishes, boiled new potatoes, and anchovy vinaigrette are wonderful. As is a salad with thinly sliced radishes, celery, and butter lettuce, with blue cheese and walnuts. But I get ahead of myself, as I only have a handful left.