Wild Garlic
My last ride of the day dropped me off in a little mountain town. The next town down the winding blacktop highway was Eminence, but I’d missed the sign for this one. I just knew I had thumbed myself to some place deep in the Missouri Ozarks and that night falls quickly up in the hills.
The air was cool and damp at this altitude, even in July. Springs and creeks fed rivers all over the area and I had stuck a big batch of wild garlic in my belt, held by the greens. This wild stuff is much stronger than the store-bought kind and I thought maybe I could use it to break the ice with someone I met. It grows commonly up here, though, so I wasn’t sure if anyone here would appreciate it.
I walked up the steep slope of the main street, sloshing my boots in the puddles of the gutter. T
