This is one of the wonderful things about growing your own food. You can have a hurting week and reach the weekend to find the land reminding you that it is time. And you are compelled to plunge your hands into the dirt and be astounded by its dark power. And you come away with sharp, nourishing food for several seasons. I should look back in here to make sure. But I recall planting this garlic after nightfall, in anger and fear, in the sorrow of something I’ve no notion of now. Now is better. Now is fresh, lush garlic. Love, and butter.