Letters to the Editor

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Raw, steamed, roasted, grilled: For two months straight, I ate asparagus like I was savoring each minute of spring.
  • winter, winter

    What a delight! I'm a native of the Deep South, in exile for the past five years in northern Indiana. I laughed out loud at Nobles' description of winter, of the resignation and slothful retreat indoors, of the pointless wanderings through the deserted shed of the farmer's market.

    Last week, I went to Easter vigil. In the snow. With frost-throttled crocuses. The temperature here lingers in the freezing range, but after reading all about asparagus, I now have at least some small reason to believe that spring might just come again.