Petite Pea Tomato Salad

April first. The morels could be coming any week. The conditions are setting up — we had three days of rain last week and the temperatures are creeping up, with nights staying above forty. I walked the food forest Tuesday morning and the south slope under the oaks was quiet but ready. The hunt is coming. I always walk the same lines, the same way, every year, the way my father walked the same lines, the way you walk the woods when you've been walking the woods all your life. The morel hunt is its own season inside spring.

Hannah and I planted the early garden Monday. Peas, lettuce, spinach, radishes, carrots. The peas went in the trellis bed. The lettuce went in the nearer bed by the kitchen. The spinach in the bed by the orchard. Radishes interplanted with the carrots, because the radishes are quick and they're up and out in a month, leaving room for the slower carrots. The Three Sisters bed will go in May. The tomatoes will go in mid-April from the seedlings I started in the workshop loft six weeks ago. The seedlings are looking good — six-inch tall, dark green, sturdy.

Wednesday I drove to Tulsa to see Luna. Just for the day. I had not made the drive in three months and I owed it to her. She made coffee. We sat in her apartment and talked. She's in the second year of law school and the schedule is brutal. She's tired and she's thriving — both, the way the third decade of a person's life can be both. She said: I'm glad you came. I said: I'm glad I came. She said: tell me about the property. I told her about the morels and the wild onions and Caleb's pottery and Macy's visit. She listened the way Luna listens, with her whole face. She said: you are doing good work, Dad. I said: I'm doing the work I have. She said: the work you have is good work. I drove home in the late afternoon. The sun set behind me. I thought about my daughter saying that and I thought about the work I have, and I thought: yeah, the work is good.

Caleb Saturday. He said: I've been thinking about a date. I said: tell me. He said: there's a woman at NA. Long-term sober, eight years. She's a teacher. I said: ask her. He said: I'm not ready. I said: when you're ready. He said: I might be ready in summer. I said: tell me when you ask. He said: you'll be the first call. I said: I'd better be.

We put the peas in the trellis bed Monday, and standing there with Hannah in the early morning—pressing seeds into soil that had been waiting all winter—I was already thinking about the first harvest. The peas are weeks away, but this salad is what I make when they finally come: petite peas and tomatoes, cold and simple, the kind of thing you throw together on the porch after a long morning in the garden. Luna asked me to tell her about the property, and this is part of what I would have told her—the way the early garden turns into food that tastes like the season itself.

Prep Time: 10 minutes | Cook Time: 0 minutes | Total Time: 10 minutes | Servings: 4

Ingredients

2 cups petite peas, fresh or thawed from frozen
1 cup cherry or grape tomatoes, halved
1/4 cup red onion, thinly sliced
2 tablespoons fresh parsley, chopped
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 tablespoon red wine vinegar
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
1/4 teaspoon garlic powder

Instructions

Prepare the peas. If using fresh peas, blanch them in boiling salted water for 1 to 2 minutes, then transfer immediately to an ice bath to stop cooking. Drain well. If using thawed frozen peas, simply pat dry.
Combine the vegetables. In a large bowl, combine the peas, halved tomatoes, sliced red onion, and chopped parsley.
Make the dressing. In a small bowl, whisk together the olive oil, red wine vinegar, salt, pepper, and garlic powder until emulsified.
Dress the salad. Pour the dressing over the vegetables and toss gently to coat everything evenly.
Rest and serve. Let the salad sit for 5 minutes before serving to allow the flavors to come together. Serve at room temperature or slightly chilled.

Nutrition (per serving)

Petite Pea Tomato Salad — From the Trellis Bed to the Table