Veg Box Life is...
The Good Life!

What sort of life would it be without hopes and dreams? Can we survive without them? And where do they come from? I decided to take a walk through a part of the farm I seldom visit—a bamboo forest so dense towards the center it becomes dark and magical. The towering green columns lace together, forming a cathedral-like ceiling. They bend towards each other from parallel rows, making the shape of a grand archway. I can only imagine what it would feel like to be a small child wandering through this forest. As I approach its deepest regions, I see a pile of logs, cut bamboo poles, sheets of corrugated iron, piles of rocks from the nearby stream, and shallow trenches filled with leaf litter that seem to mark out some sort of floor plan. It looks like an abandoned shelter from some wandering homeless person. A couple of years ago, I remember hearing the faint sounds of a child shouting as I slowly passed along the edge of this bamboo maze. I reached for the handbrake, raised my hand to block the sun from my eyes, and focused my gaze to try and make out the small figures deep in this forest’s center. It was more the sounds than the sights that gave clues to who and what it was that caught my attention. I turned the tractor around and motored up between the two rows of bamboo that led me to this rabble.

My eldest daughter is crying her eyes out. She sat in front of the fireplace, quietly rubbing the tears from her cheeks, and sobbed, “Why do I have to be like this? I hate being like this.” I didn’t know what to say. So I wrapped my arms around her, held her tight, and told her how deeply I loved her. As I squeezed her tight, I searched my imagination: I wanted her to understand how special she was. “The ink pad, Ava—get me the ink pad and a piece of paper,” I said. She looked at me with a puzzled frown and asked why. “Just go to the office and bring back the ink pad and a sheet of paper, and you will see,” I said with excitement. When she returned and sat back down, her sisters were already circling, drawn in by Dad’s weird request. They gathered close, suspicious and curious, as if some magic trick was about to be performed.

I hope you fared well in all that crazy weather over the weekend. This week, if you receive a weird-looking vegetable that resembles coral from the reef—well, it’s actually from a traditional Asian garden., Song Cauliflower is a unique, loose-curd variety with long, tender green stems and a naturally sweet, mild flavor. Unlike the dense white heads you’re used to, Song grows in elegant florets, perfect for quick cooking and beautiful plating. It’s delicious raw, lightly steamed, roasted, or tossed into stir-fries—no peeling, no fuss. Think cauliflower with a snap and sweetness that kids and foodies both love. I’d like to thank everyone who has emailed me in response to the recent chapters. I’ve greatly enjoyed reading them and responding. The reason I finally decided to write a book was to help process my inner journey. This farming journey has stirred up so many things I thought I had settled. I believe writing will help me render what is most faithful.