I could, but I don’t. It is much more likely to see me in the early morning, foraging for breakfast.
Usually starting off with an appetizer, I head to onions and break off a spear or two of the green tops. The green peas pods snap as I bite into them. Then I wander around the cabbage and broccoli, weed around the plants and snag a few tender leaves to eat as I continue my meal.
I check the summer squash and devour a crookneck with the blossom attached. I reach down to pull a miniature carrot, not even the thickness of a pencil, that has been planted too thick and snack away.
I even peek into the apple tree to see if that is a possibility, but the earliest apple is the Yellow Transparent and they are still only the size of golf balls. Too hard and much to sour to even nibble. I’ll still have to wait several weeks for the apples and the plums and pears will be later than that.
Without a table or the fancy accoutrements, and me comfortable(well-worn) jeans and a t-shirt, my breakfasts in the garden are affairs to remember.
I’ll raise my bok choi leaf in salute to the rural life, and continue to chomp my way through the garden for breakfast.