Saturday morning in Hille. Frost has settled on the grass. Still, I venture out into the bitterly cold garden. With every step, it crunches beneath my feet. Even the object of my desire is still covered in a white dusting. I don’t want to take my hands out of my pockets. But now it’s time to pull out the knife and harvest them. It’s so quiet. It’s as if the Brussels sprouts had been waiting this morning to finally be picked for a wonderful dinner! What a load of nonsense!! 🤣🤣🤣 It was freezing cold—my fingers almost fell off—but what wouldn’t you do for those little darlings? Uh, yeah, they’re not exactly little anymore. 😇🤣