"Come on, Mirto, let's go picking some fresh herbs: I want to make a savoury tart for dinner and may be boil the rest to freeze them and have them ready whenever we miss spring. If I feel like, I want to put some in pots, with vinegar or oil! So, you see, I need a lot and your help is needed!"
"Where's mom? Where the hell's she gone?"
"Here she is! Mooom, I was scared I lost you"
"I'm coming, wait for me!!!" (But what the hell she's doing sitting on the grass? Is she transforming into a hare I can hunt? Oh, yes, please mom, become a hare, a quail or some other kind of wild beast I can hunt)
"So what do we have here? Some wild fennel: that would be good for pesto and to fill roasted chicken or as a layer for salmon... I'll put it in a pot, in the meantime, covered with olive oil, afterwards I will decide... and look at those chicories, will they still be sweet enough? Or is it too late for them, will they be bitter already? Those can be good for tarts or just boiled and dressed with olive oil, with goat cheese aside. Maybe later we can check at those bushes, down there, if clematis is ready. That's perfect for omelettes"
"Mom, this job looks quite repetitive, can't we go to the fleamarket, at the village nearby? Plenty of poodles down there... And I'm getting hot and bored"
"Ok,I'll go on my own, may be she will reach me later, when she finishes with these stupid herbs... how can't she understand that these annoying daisies are much less interesting than crumbles in front of pork stand, at the market?"
"Mom, have you finished picking the grass? Have you really become a hare? Come, I said"