“Do I taste pears in this?” My neighbor was, shall we say, intrigued. Yes, I did put chunked-up pears in the minestrone we were having on a chilly, fusty early-October night at my place, Owl Feather Farm. I have two century-old homestead pear trees at the farm; they produce palm-sized hard pears, sweet but tempered with a bit of astringency. I had also tossed in shishito peppers, lemon and cherry juice, bull kelp sea salt, cilantro, lima beans (ha!), green beans, leftover smoked brisket, and a few other bits and bobs. “It’s really good,” she allowed, passing her bowl over for more. “I’ve never heard of pears in soup.” Most people think of minestrone as a half-dozen cans of supermarket stuff tossed in a pot. But its older and richer heritage is a provincial garden leftovers soup-stew that not only is exceptionally luscious, but also provokes appreciation of the wonders …