On today's play day agenda was a trip to the garden store. Wee! (Now crouched and waiting for lightening to strike. Unemployed people are not allowed to have this much fun. I'm pretty sure.)
Pictured above is my summer herb garden. A better writer than I could describe to you the intoxicating mix of heady green scents that waft off the leaves when I brush my hand over them. Ahhh. Heaven. In the box awaiting transplant is: sweet basil, Italian parsley, silver thyme, dill, dwarf sage, curry, cilantro, oregano,chives, and sweet basil. In pots outside at the front of the house I have already planted rosemary and lavender amongst the petunias.
I am only a recent convert to growing my own cooking herbs, but I have hardly ever found anything quite as satisfying. The difference between fresh and dried herbs is rather like the difference between real and silk flowers: no comparison.
Better still, the cost of a plant start is comparable to the cost of one snipped SPRIG of fresh herb at the store. Best of all, there's nothing that makes me feel quite as Martha Stewart as nipping out to the porch for a sprig of fresh rosemary for my chicken glaze sauce or a mixture of thyme and lavender for my herb crusted pork loin, or... Well. You get the picture. It's just a short hop to insufferable from here.
Which is what I'll be if I ever start growing my own vegetables.