“They’re Mom’s favorite. She’s always said spring is the best time for cooking. For living, really.” She exhaled heavily. “The only problem is that all the good stuff is so fleeting. You peek out in the fields one minute and they’re bursting with this stuff.” She clapped her hands together, sending particles of dirt into the air. “But when you look out again”—she snapped her mud-caked fingers—“just like that, it’s all gone.” She shrugged. “That’s the only problem with spring. It’s such a short season.”
