Truck in the Garden

My walking onions are now flatter than a flitter*. 

Every November, my sweetie backs the pick-up truck filled with firewood over my back door garden. This makes sense to him. Driving over any garden never makes sense to me. 

Views and opinions. There you have it. He has one view; i have another. We do not agree. Yet we do have communal harmony.

For lunch, i made a squash soup with onions from the back door garden. "What's this?" he asked.

"Squash soup with braised truck tire onions," i said.

*Etymology:  German flitter.

‘A minute square of thin metal, used in decoration; collectively, a quantity of such squares

Big Move

The big move is happening. The seasons are changing. Potatoes and winter squash have been drying in the woodshed, along with the gladiolus corms. Now it's time for everything to move to the basement, so that the wood can start coming into the woodshed.

Onions and garlic are already in the basement, but i have to shuffle them around to make room for incoming vegetables. I need more shelf space.

They say that wood warms you twice: once when you stack it and once when you burn it. Potatoes and squash aren't nearly as heavy, but there's a lot of up and down on the basement stairs. Good exercise!

Change. It's the only thing that's constant.

Onion Harvest

My onion harvest is dried. Time to store them in the basement. This is the biggest bonanza of onions i've ever had: a harvest of 225. I am ready for winter.

I particularly like the looks of the Redwing onion--a deep red northern onion.

Our local taco truck offers pickled red onions as a topping, so i've been pickling my own red onions. When a pickle jar is empty, i slice red onions into the pickle juice. That way, i always have my very own pickled red onions ready to chop into any salad.

Although we like to preserve things for the future, these things age and die, just as we do.

My onions will last until spring. Then they will sprout and be ready for their next incarnation.

P.S. Send me your favorite onion recipes.

Drying Onions

Time to pull onions out of the garden. The Onionman, from whom i ordered way too many onion seedlings in April, sends out encouraging newsletters about how to grow onions, and, recently, how to harvest onions.

I've pulled the onions, cut off their roots, and now they are drying in my darkened and cooler-than-outdoors garage. My neighbor is drying her onions and garlic in wire baskets under her deck.

The vegetable garden is emptying out. You know what that means: the end of summer gardening is coming.

It's time to empty my bookshelves and closets. Indoors, it's called de-cluttering. And you know what that means: the end of the summer body. The autumn body is within sight. That is, as long as i put on my reading glasses to see it, do my yoga stretches to keep it flexible, and pay close attention to people who are talking to me.

"What did you say, dear? Time to pull run-ins out of the carton?"

No Potatoes

After 10 days away, we returned from vacation and stopped at the food co-op to stock up on supplies. No potatoes. No onions either.

This is where my personal "victory" garden comes in handy.  I have six meals of last summer's potatoes stored in my basement. Right outside the back door, the Egyptian onions are sprouting green. I can eat out of my garden, right now.

Mindfulness is never far away. Mindfulness brings us right into the present moment where peace lives. Yes, peace in this present moment. Right now.

Feel this moment. Don't fry your mind by lolly-gagging in the future. Come right back here to this present  moment. My moment is fine. How about yours?

More Beans

My pole beans kept producing beans into October, right up to the first frost. I was astounded.

My sweetie groaned. "Not more beans!"

I felt delighted. "Yes! More beans."

Our freezer is already full of green beans.

"But look at those big beans," he said.

"Yes!" I said. "Just look."

I grew up on overcooked green beans. My sister calls them hundred-hour beans. With shreds of ham from a ham hock, and a lot of onions, the beans are more like a stew than a fresh vegetable. Tasty (according to me).

This little civil war in the kitchen continues. Yes. No. I want. I don't want.

Fortunately, we remain civil and kind to each other.

Thanksgiving Prayer

Max Coots’ Thanksgiving Prayer

Let us give thanks for a bounty of people:

For children who are our second planting, and though they grow like weeds and the wind too soon blows them away, may they forgive us our cultivation and fondly remember where their roots are….

For generous friends with hearts and smiles as bright as their blossoms;

For feisty friends as tart as apples;

For continuous friends, who, like scallions and cucumbers, keep reminding us that we’ve had them;

For crotchety friends, as sour as rhubarb and as indestructible;

For handsome friends, who are as gorgeous as eggplants and as elegant as a row of corn, and the others, plain as potatoes and as good for you;

For funny friends, who are as silly as Brussels sprouts and as amusing as Jerusalem artichokes, and serious friends, as complex as cauliflowers and as intricate as onions;

For friends as unpretentious as cabbages, as subtle as summer squash, as persistent as parsley, as delightful as dill, as endless as zucchini, and who, like parsnips, can be counted on to see you through the winter;

For old friends, nodding like sunflowers in the evening-time, and young friends coming on as fast as radishes;

For loving friends, who wind around us like tendrils and hold us, despite our blights, wilts and witherings;

And finally, for those friends now gone, like gardens past that have been harvested, and who fed us in their times that we might have life thereafter;

For all these we give thanks.

Not Too Much Harvest This Year

by Guest Blogger, Laura Evans

Not too much harvest to worry about this year—alas. Something—maybe moles? Or voles?—found even onions tasty, munching on them from underneath. The onion would look nice and plump with its papery gold-brown top showing above ground, waiting for its stalks to flop over, indicating readiness for pulling. Then when you'd pull it, it would seem to fly out of the ground with no effort on your part, and you realized it was a trick: no roots and no onion left at all. As for other things, some never germinated or were devoured in infancy. Some seedlings were eaten early by rabbits, which we'd never had before in our 35 years of hillside gardening.

Birds, as always, loved the red “razzles,” but many got moldy before quite ripening. Chipmunks enjoyed the cherry tomatoes. I watched a squirrel delighting in our plump blackberries. The deer greatly appreciated our kale and the tops of tomato plants. Blight and tomato hornworms also joined in the tomato decimation. Weeks of rain were part of the picture too. So, we got little or no cukes, cabbage, broccoli, or squash (summer or winter).

Then there are (were) the apples. Doug comes in the door with deep red ones from the biggest tree—all five held easily in his cupped hands. I look up from chopping store-bought veggies as he announces, “Well, here's the Jonathan crop for this year.” He sets the gnarled knobby little things on the counter. Horrified at first, I grew fond of them over a few days, finding them humorous and cute—like the shrunken little old heads of apple dolls—no drying needed.

Last year, the apples did okay, and a year or two before that, even though we don't spray them, the branches were groaning under the weight of big flawless fruit. Pears too, that year; same thing. And peaches.

This year, the small seckel pears were plentiful and coming along until, after a few days away, we came back to find them just not there. Along with the hordes of squirrels, we think a gray fox participated in the feast. We saw it soon after, apparently looking through the grass below the tree for any it might have missed. (Unlike their red fox cousins, they can climb trees.) 

I love seckel pears best of all, but the glimpses of that gray fox almost made up for the losses.

Laura Evans is memoir writer and an early childhood educator who lives with her gardening husband in Vermont.

Multi-use Herb Garden

Running over the chocolate mint.

Every November, my sweetie and i disagree about my herb garden. Since it's at the back door, he wants to back up the truck full of firewood right to the back door. "But it's a garden," i plead to no avail. In truth, it's a multi-use area. For 5 days in November, my herb garden is a driveway for our truck.

Can you see how i get myself into this feeling of ill-will?

1) i resist what is happening: a truck with firewood.
2) i believe the word "herb garden." In true truth, it's an ever-changing patch of dirt. As soon as i give it a label, i create a concept, which i can then believe. The world becomes dualistic--this? or that? If it's an herb garden, then it can't or shouldn't be a driveway. But, in fact, both are happening.

Our woodshed is filled to the brim with firewood for the winter. The chocolate mint, the onions, the thyme have survived.

The kale stays out of the way of those tires.

Late Harvest

photo from www.quickcrop.ie

We are leaving for vacation tomorrow, which means giving all the vegetables in the refrigerator away. Finding a home for the red peppers was easy. I sun-dried one rack of Sungold cherry tomatoes. I decided to keep my 6 red cabbage, ranging in size from small to smallest.

In order not to have any leftovers, i cooked up the smallest cabbage tonight with some homegrown onions and the only remaining apple. Delicious.

When it comes to the end of our own season, we will be harvesting the mind we've been training all these years. The untrained mind may be unpredictable. The trained mind, the mind accustomed to mindfulness, has a much better chance of viewing the ending of the season of the life more calmly.

The seasons change.

Pleasant and Unpleasant

I drove 40 minutes to the county jail yesterday to teach a weekly meditation group on the women's block. I arrived to find the unit on lockdown, so I had to leave.

To assuage my disappointment, I stopped at the farm and garden store. I was looking for onions because a few friends have told me they've already planted their onions. I found fat bunches of Spanish onion seedlings and elsewhere I found 4-packs of Walla Wallas--a big, sweet, onion-ring type onion. 

But the item that got my attention was the potted tulips on sale for half price. I bought 2 pots of white tulips, and 3 pots of pink tulips. Oh, the front step looks so much better.

Did you notice what i did?

I felt disappointment.. Unpleasant.

Driving 40 minutes, "for nothing."  Unpleasant.

Without really paying attention, I shifted my internal thermostat (and maybe yours?) to pleasant by stopping to buy onion seedlings.

I saw tulips. Pleasant.

On sale! Pleasant.

I bought tulips. Pleasant.

Unpleasant does not equal "bad." Unpleasant is simply unpleasant.

Pleasant does not equal "good." Pleasant is simply pleasant.

This simple meditation on pleasant and unpleasant focuses our attention on the motivation behind desire. (I don't want to feel unpleasant. Unpleasant feels unpleasant. I want to feel pleasant.)

I showed up at the jail and greeted 2 of the inmates. Pleasant.

I showed up for them. Pleasant.

Those women in orange pants are locked up with their minds. Now that is truly unpleasant. They need all the stress reduction they can get. Even if it is only knowing that one person showed up for them.

The Clean 15

If you want to save money and buy non-organic fruits and vegetables, then these are the ones that are safest:

• Avocados
• Sweet corn
• Pineapples
• Cabbage
• Sweet peas (frozen)
• Onions
• Asparagus
• Mangoes
• Papayas
• Kiwi
• Eggplant
• Grapefruit
• Cantaloupe (domestic)
• Cauliflower
• Sweet potatoes

Some of these make sense, because they have heavy rinds, like avocados, pineapples, and cantaloupe. For the rest, you'll have to delve into the research of the Environmental Working Group.

As a localvore wannabe, i've been saying No to produce from the tropics. The cabbage and onions at my food coop are local and organic, so that's what i buy.

Oh, those tropical fruits look so delicious.

A line from the chant on loving-kindness says

contented and easily satisfied,

...and frugal in their ways.

This is one way we can practice loving-kindness toward all beings--by being contented with what we have, feeling "contented and easily satisfied," even with second best. Like when we choose cabbage instead of lettuce leaves in a plastic container.

Being "frugal" in our ways is absolutely counter-cultural. We are not frugal in order to be stingy; we are frugal so that there is enough to go around. Enough for everyone.

We want to practice loving-kindness to all beings.

Walla Walla Onions

I had a fantastic onion harvest in August.  My Walla Walla (Vidalia) onions were as big as softballs. No kidding!  But those big onion-ring type onions have a short shelf life. So I'm cooking up as many onion recipes as I can. Onion soup. Onion quiche with bacon bits. What's your favorite recipe that uses a lot of onions?

These big onions are surprisingly mild and sweet. We think of onions as causing us some distress, bringing tears to our eyes. But not these. People in Walla Walla eat these onions like apples. Crunch!

 Several things on our Buddhist path may initially make us put up our right hand like a stop sign. "No thanks. I don't want any of that."

For instance, the 5th precept of not taking intoxicants. Oh a little glass of wine never hurt anybody. Or the third perfection of renunciation. No thanks. I want more not less. Or the third characteristic of existence: Not-self. Of course i have a self! Or the 5 daily reflections on aging, illness, and death, followed by impermanence and karma. Really, do we have to talk about those? What a bore.

Yet when we bite into any one of these teachings, we find our life becomes sweeter.

So send me your onion recipes Sweetie.

The End of Chard Season

The end of Swiss chard season is fast approaching, and my sweetie is picking grocery bags full of rainbow chard. This morning i used half a bag to make Eggs Florentine. It's a good thing chard cooks down from a heaping mound to barely half-a-skillet-ful.

I caramelized some onions and garlic, chopped the chard, and let it simmer with a lid on. Then i added bits of feta cheese and made nests in the chard for 4 eggs. Ten minutes later, we were eating a delicious breakfast.

Chard is a good substitute for spinach, which i have never successfully grown. Chard lasts and lasts, from May into November, and it doesn't bolt. The flavor is a bit stronger than spinach; chard is in the beet family.

Some of us choose meditation as a substitute for our previous religious tradition. And some of us still practice both.

Meditation has lasted me more than half my lifetime. And i usually have it before breakfast.
 

Mind-Body Disconnection

I spent 3 hours planting my onion seedlings, and i'm not done yet. Why did i think i could do it in half an hour?

I forgot the groundwork that needs to be done--the cleaning up of the bed.

The mind orders the body around. I want to go plant onions. But our master-mind sees the big picture, and conveniently forgets all the steps the body has to go through to actually carry out this order.

The body tires and needs to take a break from planting onions.
The mind continues to dream up pleasant garden scenes.

The Rabbit Trails of Intentions

I hopped out of bed with the intention to plant 4 dozen onions. I planted a 6-pack of chard instead.

But before i could do that, i had to go down the rabbit trail of cleaning up the little bed i was transplanting the chard into. Which meant i had to dig up the flowers that had sown themselves there--feverfew, lamium, and woodland poppies. In order to pot up those flowers, so i can give them away, i needed to screen my young compost. 45 minutes later, the chard is planted and the onions are still patiently sitting there, looking at me.

Sort of sounds like our meditation practice some days. Perhaps we get out of bed late, and just want to hit the computer to check the weather or send an email. 45 minutes, and many rabbit trails, later, we're not even dressed for work, and our time for meditation has evaporated.

Or our life. We intend a spiritual practice, but life! So much to do. Loved ones to care for and worry about. The mortgage to pay. 45 years later, where are we?

We're still in the present moment. And Life is patiently looking at us, smiling.

Spring Springs Up

Fiddlehead ferns are unfurling. It's time to eat spring.

In the herb garden, the French sorrel is ready to leap into a lemony soup, and the Egyptian (or walking) onions somersault into salads, stir-fry skillets, and sauces of all sorts.

The lawn grows violets and dandelion greens in profusion--perfect for a spring-tonic salad.

In pockets of lime-rich soil in the woods, wild leeks grow in abundance.

Change is happening at a rapid rate as spring springs up all around us.
How do you feel about change?

Perennial Vegetables

We choose perennial flowers for our gardens because they come back year after year. How about perennial vegetables? Nature provides many of these green "provisions."

The spring begins with dandelion greens that can be dug out of your front yard (assuming you don't "chem" your lawn.) Wild leeks live in the woods, so require foraging in the forest. Egyptian or walking onions are poking their pointy tips up in the herb garden. Now that last year's onion supply is gone, use fresh green onion leaves from your garden in all your cooking, whenever a recipe calls for onion.

Now sorrel is showing up. I have French sorrel and buckler's sorrel in my herb garden to make a delightful lemony green soup. Acidic soil around here grows sheep's sorrel in profusion--tiny, tart leaves that can be added to a salad for zest.

Nettles are next. Wear your nitrile gloves and cut the top few inches of green, which are mostly not stinging--yet. It is said that the 12th century Tibetan saint, Milarepa, lived on nettle soup for decades. Nettles are rich in Vitamin C, iron, and also contain protein.

Fiddlehead ferns are beginning to uncurl, so go harvest them now. (The ostrich ferns with the brown papery covering. Not the fuzzy-heads.)

Perennial philosophy--wisdom that cuts across all religious traditions--also sustains us. For instance, the Golden Rule is found in all the world's religions.

Just for today:
Practice doing something for someone else as you would like another to do to you.

Practice not-doing something that you would rather not happen to you. (e.g., that brilliant stinging comment.)

Perennial vegetables sustain our body. Perennial wisdom sustains our mind.

Sweet Onions

This year my onions are all the size of baseballs. No weenie onions. Not one.

Of course, i expect the Walla Walla (Vidalia) onions to be that size, but the golden onions and the red onions are only marginally smaller and are at least the size of tennis balls. Maybe this summer's heat relaxed all of them into rotundness. After all the onion capitals of Walla Walla, Washington and Vidalia, Georgia are hot places. Whatever it was, the conditions were excellent for onions this year.

Sometimes the conditions are just right for the skillful habits we want to grow in our own minds. Years may go by when the fruits of our meditation practice seem rather piddly. Then one sit or one stressful situation, perhaps one where we feel hot under the collar, our new skillful habits save us. That's when we harvest the fruit of the spiritual life.

Did you know that some people eat those sweet Walla Walla onions (the onion-ring onion) like apples?