“As for rosemary, I let it run all over my garden walls, not only because my bees love it but because it is the herb sacred to remembrance and to friendship, whence a sprig of it hath a dumb language.” Sir Thomas More (1478-1535)
Sir Thomas must have had a grander garden than mine. Or possibly, he just enjoyed the ramblings of a late summer herb garden. So rather than sigh as I see my post-vacation, overgrown weedy beds, I should give a nod to the aromatic mess waiting for harvest. Think roasted rosemary chicken, sweet basil pasta primavera. Yes, I’ll snip some mint for a green tea cooler and raise my glass to my unruly garden.