The Essence of Summer

What am I doing wrong?

I love basil.  I think its fragrance is the essence of summer, but I can't seem to grow it.  Year after year, I try--full sun, water-- but it never flourishes.  

Basil always reminds me of my sister-in-law, Delilah.  She was an avid gardener and grew vegetables and flowers on a cultivated section of the 40 acres Jerry's brother owns in Humboldt County.

In the summer of 2004, we drove up to visit them several times. Delilah was seriously ill, and we wanted to do anything we could to help. They had no refrigeration, so I took all the food, packed into ice chests, including a cherry pie at Delilah's special request.  She was the kind of person you had to force to make a special request. 

On our first visit,  I mentioned that I loved basil and bought a bunch every week for 89 cents at the Monterey Market in Berkeley.  She looked startled and led me out the back door to a flourishing basil plant.

"When I want basil, I just come out here and pick it," she said.  There was no judgment in her voice, just wonder. But  I felt very wanton, spending 89 cents a week on something I could grow myself. 

So I've tried to grow it.  Yesterday I read in Sunset that a gardener's task in June was to "plant basil seedlings every three to four weeks for a steady supply all summer."   Ha! In my dreams!  I'm back to buying bunches at the market, and it gets slimey in plastic bags in the fridge, and then I have to buy more.

Here's a picture taken during our first visit to Delilah and Peter in July 2004,  when she pointed out the basil in her garden.  She died two-and-a-half months later.  In fact, the day we arrived  she'd woken up feeling puffy, she said, the first sign that her remission was over.  I will never forget how brave and graceful she was, or weeding her zinnia beds with her, or massaging her hands on later visits, when she lay in the very hot loft bedroom they shared.

Delilah and Peter, July 2004