Two weeks without my CSA farm box (today’s box is heavy on the squash), and I was ready for Florida citrus, beans and tomatoes in season, and chard.

Go early enough and you’ll see the light play off the vegetables,

find orchids in conversation,

and fractal cauliflower and their leaves that my favorite farmer is anxious for locals to cook like collards.

He helped me set up a shot with the chard, cauliflower greens, purple haze carrots, purple spring onions, and beets that spilled out of my market bag (and sent me off with an extra tomato for good measure),

and I ran into my colleague Marika with her twins (one who has mastered Downward Dog, it seems) as I left the market headed for yoga and an afternoon of positioning local vegetables…

Related posts:

1. the sparkle of the salt
2. top o’ the carrot pesto
3. the unexpected garnish

My friend Holly wrote me tonight that she took the same beets I found at the Coral Gables farmers’ market on Saturday and made a beautiful carrot-beet-shallot soup and folded the beet tops into an omelet.

Inspired, I took out my guitar (I know, story for another time) and decided to work on my power chords.

And this led to bacon rendered for sautéed beets and bok choy, my power chord (bacon being the silent third, of course) for local Miami food tonight—and note the lower right of this image.

I have always disliked Canadian bacon because I expect stripes in circular form (imagine what a revelation pancetta was); wonderful then, are the interior mandala slices of chioggias, that, forked, reveal themselves to be other than what they seem…

Related posts:

1. the power of lunch
2. while my butter gently weeps
3. a miami year

The narrator’s words in Mrs. Dalloway (“How fresh like frilled linen clean from a laundry laid in wicker trays the roses looked,”) fit perfectly at the Pinecrest market this weekend—my friend Jessica turned to these frilled orchids and grabbed my arm.

Nearby, these alluring orchids looked as if sultry insects had tracked across the petals.

Succulents of all sizes waited in wicker baskets,

beans were in their purplish glory,

new vocabulary was introduced,

and Jessica and her father (they let me tag along to their family breakfast at the Muffin Tin earlier) considered the many pasta flavors.

The Lettuce Farm from Homestead, Florida unmasked me as a blogger to a fellow shopper (their lettuce is excellent),

and Redland Organics impressed me further with the sign detailing food miles for everything on their tables.

First week of the heirloom tomatoes,

and I hope more will be in my CSA box soon (Redland Organics also runs the CSA):

Not with linen, nor with frills, wicker trays held tart carambola, the starry fruit that grows on trees here…

Related posts:

1. the power of lunch
2. the month of the scone
3. I recognize that smile

She smiled as we heard the sounds of things uncivilized approaching…

and an ATV trio rumbled past in their mudded glory.

We stopped for local fruit on the side of the road (more on that when it ripens),

and continued on to Bee Heaven Farm in Homestead where Jenne gracefully shook the avocados.

We tested the farm’s raw honey (wildflower was my favorite), I procured fresh bee pollen that will keep well in the freezer, and on we drove to the Homestead flea market produce area.

Two girls were taking pony rides together, and shortly, saddled with bags of local vegetables, we two drove back to the magic cottage to toast our adventure into the Miami afternoon…

Related posts:

1. colour my world, chicago
2. when I’m 88
3. all roads lead to brooklyn

Awash in the interesting mix of high and low culture, we arrived at Robert Is Here, the fruit emporium that began in 1959 as a roadside stand.

Perusing stacks of sugarcane that look like weathered book spines,

I thought a tall sugarcane would be an excellent walking stick for the food expedition ahead. (Read the rest after the jump.)

The fresh guavas were a brilliant green;

the mangoes were subdued, almost blushing.

Then, Jessica and I found the alarmingly large jackfruit (she’s holding a mango for size comparison).

Wikipedia suggests that jackfruit tree heartwood dyes the robes of Southeast Asian Buddhist forest monastics the traditional yellowish-brown shade, and I believe any tree that supports fruit this large must be imbued with quiet power.

Behind the fruit area a menagerie wanders,

including an ostrich that patiently poses,

and a spunky little turtle reaching out

that Jessica gracefully acknowledged a connection to—

I returned to the magic cottage, butterflies brushing by my knees,

and, just in time, ducked under an expansive web spanning native plants that surround the yard.

What do we almost miss as we go our usual routes? I returned to the gate and walked the path again, glancing up to see another web, another spider spinning,

I looked down to see one of the yellow flowers I often pluck from the gravel to fasten behind my ear as I leave;

trained to reach like our new turtle friend, the flowers fall from the trellis,

making way for a new cycle of growth to begin…

Related posts:

1. all the flowers are forms of water
2. caterpillar flowers, dancing shoes, and tiny, bubbling ideas
3. examining life