The garden is planted. Tomatoes in the beds (after the frost danger passes — I've been burned before). Peas climbing the trellis. Lettuce, cucumbers, dill, basil, the whole roster. The garden looks like potential — rows of seedlings and stakes and string, the architecture of hope.
I spent three hours on Saturday in the dirt. The kneeling, the planting, the watering. Sven in the grass beside me, sleeping, the sun on his fur. The morning was warm — sixty degrees, which in Duluth in April is cause for celebration — and the dirt was soft and the seedlings went in easily and the work was physical and good.
I talked to the plants. I talk to them openly now, without embarrassment. "Grow," I tell the tomatoes. "Climb," I tell the peas. "Behave," I tell the dill, which never behaves. The plants don't listen but the talking helps. The talking fills the garden with a voice — my voice, the only voice this garden has had for a year — and the voice is company.
Anna called with news: Jakob is finishing his sophomore year at UMD. He's declared his major — civil engineering, with a focus on bridge design. Peter's influence, unmistakable. Paul's grandson, building bridges. The thread extends in directions I didn't expect.
Lena is seventeen and has been accepted to a summer wildlife research program at the University of Minnesota. Wolves. She'll be studying wolves. Elsa's influence, obvious and wonderful. The youngest grandchild, heading into the woods, the way Elsa headed into the woods at twenty-one.
The kids are growing. The grandkids are becoming. The seeds I planted — not in the garden but in the kitchens and the classrooms and the hospital hallways — are producing.
I made a spring dinner: fresh pea soup with mint. The peas from the co-op (garden peas not ready yet). Blended smooth, bright green, tasting like the season. I ate it on the porch, watching the garden, watching the evening light stretch toward nine.
The garden is planted. The grandkids are growing. The soup is green.
Spring. The season of becoming. I'm becoming too — I don't know what yet, but the becoming is happening, the way the seedlings are happening, the way the light is happening, the way everything in Duluth happens in April: slowly, stubbornly, all at once.
The peas on the trellis aren’t ready yet — that’s April’s one cruelty — but the hunger for something smooth and green and hopeful doesn’t wait for the harvest. While I had the co-op peas simmering for the soup, I made this garlic bean dip to set out with bread and crackers, something to graze on while the evening stretched long and the garden went quietly about its business. It’s the kind of recipe that asks almost nothing of you and gives back something that tastes intentional — bright with lemon, warm with garlic, the kind of thing you keep eating without quite meaning to.
Garlic Bean Dip
Prep Time: 10 min | Cook Time: 5 min | Total Time: 15 min | Servings: 8
Ingredients
- 2 cans (15 oz each) cannellini or Great Northern beans, drained and rinsed
- 4 cloves garlic, minced
- 3 tablespoons olive oil, plus more for drizzling
- 2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
- 2 tablespoons water, plus more as needed
- 1/2 teaspoon kosher salt, or to taste
- 1/4 teaspoon black pepper
- 1/4 teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes (optional)
- 2 tablespoons fresh flat-leaf parsley, chopped, for garnish
- Pita bread, crackers, or raw vegetables for serving
Instructions
- Warm the garlic. In a small skillet over medium-low heat, combine the olive oil and minced garlic. Cook, stirring frequently, for 2 to 3 minutes until the garlic is fragrant and just beginning to turn golden. Remove from heat and let cool slightly.
- Blend the dip. Add the drained beans to a food processor along with the garlic-oil mixture, lemon juice, water, salt, black pepper, and red pepper flakes if using. Process until very smooth, about 1 to 2 minutes, scraping down the sides as needed. If the dip is too thick, add water one tablespoon at a time until you reach your desired consistency.
- Taste and adjust. Taste the dip and adjust salt, lemon juice, or pepper to your preference. The flavor will mellow slightly as it sits.
- Serve. Transfer to a wide shallow bowl. Use the back of a spoon to create a swirl across the surface. Drizzle generously with olive oil and scatter the chopped parsley over the top. Serve with pita bread, crackers, or crudités.
- Store. Leftover dip keeps well in an airtight container in the refrigerator for up to 4 days. Stir before serving and drizzle with fresh olive oil to refresh.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 145 | Protein: 7g | Fat: 5g | Carbs: 19g | Fiber: 5g | Sodium: 210mg
About the cook who shared this
Linda Johansson
Week 264 of Linda’s 30-year story
· Duluth, Minnesota
Linda is a sixty-three-year-old retired nurse from Duluth, Minnesota, living alone in the house where she raised her children and said goodbye to her husband. She lost Paul to ALS in 2020 after two years of watching the kindest man she'd ever known lose everything but his dignity. She cooks Scandinavian comfort food and Minnesota hotdish and the pot roast Paul loved, and she sets two places at the table out of habit because it makes her feel less alone. Every recipe she writes is a person she's loved.