Every spring the asparagus pops up, and every spring our spirits and stomachs are bolstered after the long winter. Our spears always start slowly and timidly, sending out a brave sentinel here and there to test the situation; then within a few days everyone hears the news to grow now. It seems it must only take a couple minutes for the next-in-line asparagus and all its friends to shoot straight out of the soil and into the air.

If you’ve been a reader for longer than a year, you know it also only takes a day or two for me to fall behind in catching the spears in their fleeting tender youth. By now it’s become a habit, ingrained into the routine of the seasons: Amanda cannot wait for the asparagus to arrive, and she also cannot remember to check for it often enough. I do daily chicken and rabbit chores within a couple hundred yards of our small asparagus patch, so you would think it wouldn’t be a big deal to step over there and just check the green jack-in-the-boxes’ progress.

You would think. At least I can (hypothetically) blame it on Baby Green Bean this year – and Bacon Leaf. We are encroaching not only on the chickens’ and guineas’ territory to get to the asparagus, but on our fat ol’ pig’s queendom. Bacon Leaf (yes our 5-year-old named her), a hairy brown kunekune pig, has lived with us since last fall, and in hopes that we get some little hams running around, soon we’ll be hosting a “friend” for her. She’s really quite docile, but oh so fat, so I thought the kids might be a little nervous about tramping through her pen to get to the asparagus. Kiah, however, immediately started cooing and chatting to her in a soothing, confident voice, so clearly the pig is not actually an issue.

So really I again have no excuses for letting the asparagus toughen up before I get to it. The kids did shriek with joy alongside me when our last harvest included at least a dozen spears – like I said, it’s a small patch – and of course proceeded to enthusiastically fight over who gets to carry what, breaking and dropping half of the loot in the process. I asked Benson what his favorite part of asparagus was; he smiled sweetly and cheesily, saying, “Picking it with you, Mommy.”

I can’t complain at an answer like that, but technically I was fishing for something else. Though both kids quickly realized they don’t prefer asparagus raw, as they immediately started shoving spears in their mouths as I picked them, they really enjoy them cooked. That said, our young son distinctly understands and appreciates the added aftereffect bonus of asparagus consumption, if you know what I mean. Beans, beans, might be the magical fruit, but asparagus is a pretty magical vegetable.

It used to be believed to have a magical origin, too, sprouting from buried rams’ horns, and its decadent flavor has been enticing people to cultivate it for over 2,000 years, as evidenced by literature from Pliny the Elder in ancient Rome.

Lucky ones who know where to search it out can even find wild asparagus for these few short spring weeks. And the rest of us, well, we just have to remember to go cut it.

Savory Asparagus French Toast

We get such a small amount of asparagus that it’s hard to know if I should cook it plain so we can enjoy it in all its glory, or if I should add it to things so we can spread out the joy. This idea came to me as a result of both inclinations: we ate it first just sauteed with butter and sharp cheddar, and then the meager leftovers worked perfectly here. My method for french toast isn’t the most helpful, as I just whisk an egg with some milk and salt and hope it works out. It must have worked out, as Brian said it was delicious.

Prep tips: I told myself that at this point in pregnancy, when my friend goes to Sam’s and asks what I need, I say a rotisserie chicken, just because; so that’s what we used here.

• 1 tablespoon butter
• 1 tablespoon flour (I used whole-wheat)
• 1 cup milk
• 1 tablespoon cream cheese
• 1 cup chopped cooked chicken
• 1 cup sauteed asparagus
• salt, pepper, and red pepper to taste
• your preferred style of french toast, prepared without sweet components

Heat butter in a small saucepan, and once it’s starting to brown, stir in the flour. Gradually whisk in the milk, and cook until slightly thickened. Whisk in cream cheese, then stir in chicken, asparagus, and seasonings. Serve over french toast.

Lettuce Eat Local is a weekly local foods column by Amanda Miller, who lives in rural Reno County on the family dairy farm with her husband and two small children. She seeks to help build connections through food with her community, the earth, and the God who created it all. Send feedback and recipe ideas to hyperpeanutbutter@gmail.com.