Red stems in the sunset

The first rhubarb. I think I blip it every year. It's such a significant moment, taking off the cover (an old bucket) that forced the  tender stalks up early. I snap off a few to stew lightly with a little sugar and orange juice, for the year's first fruit.

Is it a fruit though? Not in a botanical sense but culturally, gastronomically, it surely is, and so delicate in flavour at this early season. I love April in the garden when there's all to win, and the veg patch, once dug, looks  as neat and fresh as a new made bed. Later my enthusiasm falters and despair sets in as weeds, pests and diseases emerge to decimate the crops. But I know that if I can hold the line I'll end up with enough edible stuff to last the winter.  The rhubarb though won't get any better than it is right now.

Rhubarb Crumbles
 
Now, in the winter of my days
you warm my hungry ways
you bring the spice to my table
nutmeg and cinnamon
in your sweet crust
your soft body
melts in my mouth
 
I recall how different you were
in our spring
thrusting up, coming early
whether forced or not
your firm red stem 
always ready
for a tart.

by David Hensley