Here’s my driveway in the spring before the arbor I’ve been nursing along kicks in.

Then in early summer.

Finally in full on summer.

And then in all its glory before the end of the season comes.

And then, as Jackson Browne sang, When the spring ‘light comes streaming in, I’ll get up and do it again’ next year…

Once we tasted her pumpkin pie and declared it a home run clear up, over and out of the park–every bit as good as the ones mama used to make–she divulged her secret.

“Acorn squash from the garden.” To her husband’s lifted brows, she explained that she was darned if she’d buy official pumpkin when she had perfectly good winter squash in the house.

Laura with some of her Liberty apple harvest a couple years ago

Yes! This is the kind of talk thrifty, innovative cooks understand. Cooks who are primarily concerned with where their ingredients are sourced. Cooks who realize that threads running through flavor and sustainability and health will make whole cloth if we just let them.

Speaking of health. Laura didn’t stop with the filling for her pumpkin pie. She made her butter crust from 100 percent whole wheat pastry flour–flour that I’d bet half a hundred, came from the organic bulk bins.

Yah. My kind of eating. My kind of cook. Laura gets it.

(Camera was nowhere in sight to capture Laura’s acorn squashes or her 2009 pie, but here’s one of my own winter squash harvests. Those spaghetti squashes are such charmers piled up in their basket.)

Kitchen gardens aren’t everyone’s cup of tea, of course. So Bion Bartning, who also thinks farmers markets price many of us out, has come up with a new model. He runs a little store in Manhatten, Basis Market, that carries local produce, dairy, and meat products–all at prices substantially lower than farmers markets and all labeled by the farm from which they came.

This is what he told Food and Wine: “We’re finding producers who are willing to be fair in their pricing, and we’re being fair in what we charge.”

Here’s one I just got from Bob, friend in Northern Arizona, who has grown a four-season organic garden for years with his wife, Beth:

“I put some throw-away skylights over the spinach in the garden. So we have had fresh spinach to go with our sprouts all winter.” Bob’s a carpenter and roofer–not to mention a climber and caver. He and Beth have salvaged and recycled since the Sixties. As a result, they’ve had enough funds while raising two boys and building a home to hike, ski, and raft the best of the West. That’s the Bohemian live for you.

He even included a photo. Pretty hip cold frame, Bob. Thanks.

Longtime family friend Matt Loggins was here over the weekend so we grilled. It was such a snap.

I brined the shrimp for a half hour in salty water, made a salad out of leftover quinoa, garden lettuces, onion, and cashew cilantro pesto (Cooking Beyond Measure, page 75).

Other than that it was just making the rounds in the garden for squash and peppers–all of which went directly onto the grill without even venturing into the kitchen first. (They were washed well enough from the mornings watering, needed nary a speck of oil, and I had a pocket knife handy.)

Yes. From the garden to the grill. My kind of cooking.

There’s a reason we all love carrots. They’re sweet and flavorful. Especially fresh carrots.

Then if you’re lucky and have a planter full of pink zinnias–like I do compliments of my neighbor Sarah–all’s left to do is take your salad out by the flowers and enjoy.

Linda’s my new pal. She knows about computers and business and such. So what could I do when she arrived once again to help the cause, but offer a munch.

It was mainly leftovers that took me 15 minutes to pull together. Mahi mahi (because when I talked to Gary last week that was what he was making) and crook neck squash from the grill that I’d done the night before, lettuces from the garden, and warmed corn tortillas into which to fold the fish along with some blue cheese.

The usual suspects were there: fish sauce and red chile into the warmed mahi mahi, olive oil worked onto the lettuces with my hands, fresh cracked pepper, pinches of coarse salt.

Linda ate with the same relish I do. She loved my simple, affordable measurefree food. She can come to dinner at mi casa any time.

Speaking of the living being easy, you might notice the braids of garlic in the photo. I spent a joyful evening a couple weeks ago harvesting. It’s a first for me to grow a year’s supply of garlic and the feeling of provisioning the larder is quite nice. My braids ain’t half bad either for a newbie, don’t you think?

I have to credit the farmers’ market vendors for getting me hip to green garlic. And once again, now I’m growing my own. You plant garlic in the fall, and each clove you nestle down into the earth will return the favor by becoming a whole bulb.

This time of year when the garlic is starting to really grow, you can find it anywhere between the size of a scallion (spring onion) or larger in circumference as the plants inch their way into maturity. What’s missing, though, are the papery husks around the tiny forming cloves. That makes green garlic a cook’s delight, since all you do is slice it up just a like a scallion.

Expect green garlic to be mild as well. No loud aroma at all. Just a hint of garlic that does so much for most anything primavera: whole grains like quinoa, whole grain bruschettas, whole grain pizzas, and of course, trusty spaghetti squash (so vastly superior to pasty white flour pastas).

Also–and here’s the real scoop behind green garlic as far as I’m concerned: In the spring when the fall garlic you planted is maturing, sometimes you need to think the patch some–weed out the plants that ended up too close together to allow the winter bulbs plenty of room to form. That’s why green garlic comes into my kitchen–and I why I suspect it winds up at farmers markets.

Later in the season when fava beans are more mature, it does pay to shuck them not only out of their white velvet pods but also out of their individual shells. Now, though, favas go great to the table easily once removed three or four at a time from their grand, giant pods.

It was only last year that I discovered favas at a farmers’ market stand. They were go good that I planted my own patch last fall. Now it’s paying off. Instead of tromping off to the store and laying down my shekels, I just cruise outside.

Last night it was sliced green garlic (scallions would work too) flashed on hot in my cast iron wok in a little butter. In went the shelled favas, some trusty cooked spaghetti squash ready and waiting in the fridge, salt, and enough water to keep things from sticking. Then a chop of fresh spinach and I was ready to plate with shaved romano, cracked pepper, and a little wine vinegar.

Too yummy it was. As you’ll see if you try this, the favas didn’t take but a minute to soften–so this is some serious fast food–a serious Hippie Stir Fry.

No less than fava beans (broadbeans) help illustrate how lovely getting one’s vegetables in the spring can be. When mature, favas are a half foot long and the beans within the pods need double shucking to remove tough coats. But now favas are smaller than peapods and so tender you can eat them raw in salads.

Spring favas–that can be had at farmers’ markets if not in your own vegetable garden–also turn into superb fare when flash cooked on high heat in a dab of water with perhaps some spring garlic. Dressed with olive oil and lemon juice with riotous blend of fresh herbs like oregano, chives, thyme, and mint, these young tender favas are truly miracles of creation to savor.

Favas, of course, are just the tip of the iceberg. Watch for baby beets, new peas, fingerling carrots, spring onions, tender lettuces, sweet baby greens like kale, new radishes with just enough bite, and fresh white cauliflower.