I've never been one who likes asparagus. I mean, if you douse it in enough hollandaise, I will lick the sauce off.
Just kidding. I think about doing that, but I'll actually eat the green stuff too. I just do it really fast and after I've enjoyed the creamy topping.
When my grandpa offered me some fresh garden-grown asparagus, I considered it an act of great love and graciousness to accept. But instead of limp stringy ropes of bitter vegetation, I bit into these crisp, almost buttery spears with the most bright flavor.
They were so good that I thought seriously about becoming a gardener for at least three seconds.
Here I'd judged all asparaguss--asparagi?--everywhere as nasty bitter veggies when in reality, it wasn't the asparagus that was bad. It may have been prepared poorly, or maybe not cut high enough to avoid the white stump, which I learned from gramps is always nasty and bitter. It may have been old.
Or maybe it was good, but I was so convinced it was bad that I didn't even notice.
Due to circumstances lately, I've seen assumptions made too often. About personalities, about motivations, about intent. I've seen people carrying hurts that either didn't exist in the first place, or were the size of a grape and yet filled their vision because they were looking at it so closely. I've been that person before. I've fixated on the worst possible outcome and then discovered I had broken my own heart for nothing.
People are not like asparagus. We are rarely green, we grow more slowly, and dogs don't usually nip off our heads.
But situations can be like eating veggies, and while I'm not glad for the tendency to assume, I'm glad that it can be overcome. And that more often then not, the veggie/person uncovered is so enjoyable it makes me glad I took another try.
Thank you, God, for Charles and his garden, for asparagus and garlic salt. Thank you for a fresh look at a vegetable, and for not judging me once and tossing me aside, even when I truly am limp and stringy. All my love.