Bounty.

I dream of basil.

More to the point, I dream of a wall of rich, lush basil leaves growing happily in the summer sun, giving me an endless supply of pesto. I dream, to be very specific, of the trellis that used to grow outside my friend Ruthellen's house where leaves half the size of my hand flourished. Any time I visited I could pick freely from it, load a baggie and giggle my way back to my kitchen knowing I was having pasta that night.

I had pasta last night, and as you may guess, basil was involved. We have tried to plant and grow basil in the past. The folks who owned our house before us built a small garden in one corner of the deck. It used to have a "pool" as part of it--which is to say they dropped a plastic bucket into a hole, packed the edges with dirt, lined it with bricks and filled it with water. In this manner, they created a delightful little oasis where mosquitos could find all the stagnant water they needed to potentially breed with unchecked fecundity and take over the world.

Needless to say, the little garden no longer has a pool.

As I was saying, we've tried to plant and grow basil, among other herbs. We have, in fact, successfully planted it. That part, we've got locked. Growing it--beyond what growth is going to occur naturally for a few days because we bought a fairly healthy plant--has proven somewhat more elusive. Unless, of course, I've misunderstood the point of it all and what you're supposed to end up with are withered stalks covered in a stylish black blight. Then we're perfect at it.

I think the problem has been that we condemned our basil to a life without shade. Our understanding had been that basil requires full sun. That's what the little stickers on the several plants we've killed have said. This year, however, we added some trellis work to our deck, rising over the little garden. And, lo and behold, the basil has (so far) prospered. It's not as if we've installed some sort of retractable garden roof that closes according to the needs of the basil. It appears to just offer the plants a little respite. In thanks, they are producing big, full leaves--and plenty of them.

While I'm not pretending I've mastered the art of basil growing to Ruthellen-like proportions, I admit that I've let the idea of training it to rise up the trellis enter my head. Until then, I'm content to just be able to step out my door and pick the stuff. Certainly a benefit on nights like the one that inspired this post.

(Cue flashback music.)

I was tired. My back had been flaring up. I really didn't want to cook, and my wallet explained that I didn't feel like buying anything, either. But this is why the universe gave us the wonder that is pasta.

The initial idea was to make a simple pasta with basil. I'd looked at the plants that morning and knew I had to pinch off some leaves to keep them growing. So that, with a bit of garlic, olive oil and butter, would make for a classically simple and summer-light dinner. (With wheat pasta, of course.) Then I remembered that in a recent bout of indiscriminate shopping I had re-upped my caper supply. And the hits kept on coming--when I got home I discovered that, much to my surprise, the Food Fairy had left me a package of Trader Joe's chicken-garlic sausage. Now I was a bit more inspired. Even if I hadn't been by then, the act of actually pinching off those deep green, two-fingers-wide leaves certainly would have done the trick.

The plan in the long run is to have our little garden teeming with herbs. On one side, rosemary, chives, mint and lavender are already fighting for supremacy in their 1x2 space. I think the mint is winning. The basil has made a foothold in the middle section, squaring off against a sage plant. (And that stuff can grow like mad.) There's room for more. On the other side, a strawberry plant my daugther insisted she had to have (along with some corn) is getting large and leafy but hasn't yet turned out a decent berry. There may or may not be a pepper plant lying dormant in there. There's a wonderful vibrancy to fresh herbs, and growing them well brings a surprising level of satisfaction, even to an old grump like me. I honestly haven't used much of the rosemary or mint, although I have been known to snap off a mint leaf now and then to chew on. But the more of the stuff I grow, the more likely I am to get around to finding ways to use it.

For now...who wants some pesto?