I squat by the edge of the garden while Phyllis picks lettuce for our dinner. The soil is dry and crumbly beneath my feet. I feel the sun’s warmth radiating from the smooth slate slabs that have soaked up the rays since early morning. An occasional bee drifts by, heavy with honey from fragrant lavender bushes. Distant church bells join the sound of our voices as we move within the garden.

We look at the bean plants lining the perimeter. Most are too small to pick now, but by week’s end I’ll blanch them and toss with a vibrant, mustardy vinaigrette. The arugula isn’t ready yet either. Tender green clumps barely push through the dark soil in uneven rows. In the middle of the garden, we see pale red and bright green tomatoes hanging under fuzzy leaves. Those we won’t rush; they are a taste worth waiting for.