Finding the Thyme...

The last time I made my favorite roasted chicken recipe (check back for my next post) I couldn't find one of the essential ingredients: thyme. I didn't even bother to look at the store, because I knew I had it in my herb garden. Somewhere.

Needless to say, I substituted rosemary that day. It's taller, easier to see, and I could sneak a couple of sprigs from the top without reaching my hands too far down into the twisted, jungly bramble.

Some days I tackle gardening with an adventurous gusto. Focusing on a nice shady corner, I manically weed and throw, weed and throw, creating piles along my path. I bravely reach for things I can hardly see, not even caring what creepy-crawlies my glove might be touching. With sweaty brow and blind detirmination, I'm clearing, cutting a swath, uncovering a charming vignette, finding my thyme. I'm a hero, saving my lost beauties from their parasitic, if occasionally ornamental, attackers (consider the lovely flowering bean vines).

About the time my manic energy shifts down to sheer resolve, I begin to notice things. Like the preying mantis on the weed I just pulled. Or the hairy spider crawling on my glove (toward my arm). Or the angry bumble bee buzzing my head (did I mention that I'm allergic?). Pretty soon, as if a switch has been thrown, it's over. That's it. I can't even bring myself to load the weeds into the wheelbarrow -- God only knows what's in there. I begin to itch all over. I have a strong urge to remove all my clothing and shake it vigorously, unfolding creases and pulling pockets inside-out. I briefly consider shaving my head, but luckily I accept that a long shower will suffice. As I head toward the relative safety of the house, I pause for a moment to admire the lone, beautiful corner housing my treasured basil, rosemary, flat-leaf parsley, sage, and yes -- right there between the chocolate mint and the voluptuous lavender -- I found my thyme.