The downside of my process is that I misidentified pushki. To my young eye, it matched the picture of Queen Ann's Lace, and to this day I automatically refer to cow parsnip as Queen Ann's Lace. On our evening strolls, I will argue with my husband until I'm blue in the face that no, that is not pushki, that is Queen Ann's Lace. He's right, of course, it is pushki, but I won't admit it. I kind of enjoy seeing him getting all worked up, as he provides example after example of how he knows without a doubt that IT'S PUSHKI. He tells me about the childhood battles he and his little buddies fought in the fields around Homer, Alaska, using stalks of pushki as swords. He reminds me that he received a degree in biology, which ought to count for something. He'll admit a similarity may exist between the two, but then point out the differences between pushki and Queen Ann's lace. Whatever.
I'd take this Queen Ann's Lace home to press,
but I don't think I have a book that is big enough.
Also, it's kind of dead.
(And it's not Queen Ann's Lace, but you didn't hear it from me.)
Dinner last night: veggie pizza
Exactly one year ago:
Exactly two years ago:
Exactly three years ago: