The beets grow wild, but in more profusion than would have occurred if I hadn’t nurtured them along. My beet field covers a wide swath that runs in a half-moon shape to the south of my home. The smell from my pot is sweet, as only beets close to pollination time can be. The water that came from the clear mountain brook nearby is now thick and soupy. I am making beet syrup for my candy. Above my door, up to the roof peak, along the eaves, and yes, in truth entirely around the house, runs a garland of pink peppermint candies. The peppermint is a green plant, but the round candies are pink from the beet syrup. In all these years I have found no way to take the red color from the beet. So all the candy that covers my house is red to rose to pink. I would love to have it be green, like the mints Asa put on our cabin so long ago. Still, it may be better that it is not green, for green would have made the memory of Asa so strong I might not be able to bear it. And the beet color is pleasing.
