The obvious thing would be to write about the weather. It hit 80 degrees in Seattle yesterday, and I swear you could see the chard growing.

But I’ll post about the public library book sale instead, which happens once in fall and again in spring at the Magnuson Park hangars. Everything goes for 50 cents or $1 and if you go today, Sunday, you get half off of even that. We’re regulars, meaning while I sat in the Dallas airport on Friday night, Charlie greased up his elbows and fought the mercenaries for the best books.

I was determined to get to the sale nevertheless, in hopes that those old cookbooks no one ever wants might be the key to weird vegetables at the farmer’s markets. All was going according to plan: by the time I got there the tables had been picked clean of everything except fruit and vegetable books. The hitch was that I had just twenty minutes and most got allocated to fiction, yielding an armful of novels like a sturdy older copy of Erica Jong’s Fear of Flying. On the way out I threw the Vegetarian Epicure in my bag, then Sylvia Thompson’s Kitchen Garden Cookbook, which dwells on, well, pretty much everything and has a whole section on edible flowers.

Not bad for twenty minutes’ work, and chances are good the vegetable books will be back this fall.

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