December Vegetables

 

Today i harvested the last 3 sprigs of broccoli and one turnip. That's a meal for one--turnip soup and steamed broccoli.

The vegetable garden keeps giving and giving. Even though this offering seems pale by comparison to the abundance of summer, it's enough. 

Thanks to the bright green and purple generosity of the garden.

Turkey Carcass

My Halloween skeleton is still sitting on my front step waving at everyone who walks by. 

Yesterday, we took a turkey apart piece by piece, bone by bone. Today, we have an opportunity to look closely at the turkey skeleton if we are making turkey soup out of the carcass. Look at that turkey leg. It's reminiscent of our own leg bones. Look at that turkey wing. There's a single bone, and then, bent back, is the less meaty two-bone section. The neck bones, the back ribs.

The Buddha recommends a charnel ground meditation. Although we don't have charnel grounds any more, we can take a close look at the turkey carcass, see the resemblance to our own carcass, and contemplate skin, flesh, and bones.

The skeleton on my front step thinks that's funny.

Blood

 Sanguisorba delights the September and October garden with its while chenille flowers. Also known as burnet, this cucumber-tasting herb can be used in soups and salads.

Sangui means "blood" in Latin. (Think: sanguine) and sorba means to soak or staunch. This herb can be used to stop a wound from bleeding.

In these politically divisive times, we want to staunch the blood-letting--the paper cuts of mean words and the deeper wounds of hateful words.

Let's staunch the blood flow between red and blue. After all, the blood in every one of us runs red and blue.

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

Canning Tomatoes

 I thought i was done with canning. No more canning tomatoes. But during these COVID months, what else do i have to do except grow tomatoes and can them?

My sweetie was told that tomatoes flare his eczema, so i limited my tomato plants to 2 sungolds. Then a friend gave me 2 Roma plants, so, of course, i planted them. As i mentioned a couple of days ago, 50 green tomatoes are slowly turning orange and losing their garden-fresh taste, so i made tomato sauce. I pour the tomato juice off the sauce because (1) i don't like watery tomato sauce and (2) i use the tomato juice (tomato broth is more apt) in making winter soups or Spanish rice.

The boiling water bath does take time to heat up. All that work for 4½ pints of tomato sauce.  And the tomato sauce is just for me.

That's what some people say about meditation: All that work, and it's just for you. Isn't that navel-gazing selfish?

Finding peace of mind ripples out to our family and friends. Practicing kindness establishes a habit of kindness, and the world--our neighbors, our community--need a lot of kindness right now.

Be a light for your world. Feed yourself some peace in meditation, and see what happens.

Turnip Soup

I harvested a very large turnip. Since there was no way to hack into it, i put it in my stewpot and boiled it for an hour till it was tender. What do you do with turnips anyway?

I divided this one into 3 parts. I mashed one-third of it; i diced a third; and i stored the other (cooked) third in the refrigerator, awaiting further inspiration.

Since i didn't grow up with turnips on the supper table, i always feel at a loss about how to cook them. But two years ago, i had a glorious turnip soup for my birthday at a fancy restaurant. I've been salivating for turnip soup ever since.

But what to do and how to do it?

Doubt is a serious affliction on our spiritual path. Doubt can prevent us from even getting started at all. I could leave the turnips in the garden all winter just because i don't know how to harvest them or cook them.

So step aside doubt. Let's figure out what to do with a turnip. First, i bought some heavy cream. Any creamy soup is improved by real cream. I put a quart of mashed turnip in a saucepan, added half a cup of cream, and a cup of chicken broth. I used my immersion blender, then added garlic salt and thyme. Oh, my. Turnip soup is delicious.

Lemon-y Sorrel

With the advent of cool weather, French sorrel is reappearing in my herb garden. I cut some of its spinach-looking leaves and make a lemon-chicken-rice soup--without the lemon since my sweetie is allergic to citrus. Sorrel is a good substitute for that lemon-y taste.

Some people cannot tolerate what we might say--whether about politics or religion. We want to give them a taste of true kindness whether or not they are tolerant, whether or not they are kind to us. This is a steep practice.

My sweetie, who doesn't like sour tastes, enjoyed the sorrel soup.

Soporific Lettuce

Beatrix Potter wrote that the effect of eating too much lettuce is soporific, and so the Flopsy bunnies all fell asleep under a lettuce plant.

Indeed, the white milky sap of a lettuce plant, especially wild lettuce, does have a slight sleepifying effect.

What are your soporifics? Pills? TV? Reading?

One of my soporifics is wheat. Wheat makes me sleepy. Two hours after a piece of toast, i feel like i need a nap. Therefore, i don't eat bread or pasta products on retreat. I renounce that delicious bread that the retreat center serves with the soup dinner.

There's a time and place for inducing sleep, but during meditation, sleepiness and laziness (aka sloth and torpor) is a hindrance.

We are on the path toward awakening. Therefore we need to be awake for our meditation. Wake up!

Then eat some lettuce before bedtime.

The Winter Garden

Now that the first frost has sent annuals to their compost-grave, we can see more clearly what remains in the winter garden. Curly red kale, for instance. It's beautiful.

Here at the writing retreat, we are served kale every day--kale in the minestrone soup, kale-quinoa salad. It's delicious.

As our bodies deteriorate, and we lose this small function and then that one, we can see more clearly what remains. For my own "winter garden" i've been cultivating calm and acceptance. After all, my happiness does not depend on how I feel.

Cool weather is here. I realize i cannot see or hear as well as i used to. I need reading glasses for everything. I can no longer eavesdrop on nearby conversations.

Nevertheless, my happiness does not depend on how i feel about these situations.

The winter garden is beautiful.

Enjoying the Company of Kale

November cold and quiet is visiting for a few days. The sky is blue, and the winds of change are blowing.

It's time to harvest my lacinato kale, the so-called dinosaur kale. Most people say this wrinkly, narrow-leaved kale is the sweetest. From past experience, i expect it to last for just 2 more weeks, so i try to harvest some every day. Yesterday i cooked Tuscan kale-white bean-miso soup. Today kale quiche in a skillet (without the crust) with 3 kinds of goat cheese.

When we know one of our friends doesn't have much time left, we want to spend as much time as we can with them. We want to enjoy their company.

My lacinato kale has chunks of icy snow caught between the leaves and the stems. It's getting cold out there. Time to enjoy kale's company before it goes quiet.

Cilantro Roots

Cilantro (a.k.a. coriander) reseeds itself in the garden and is blooming now, so it's mostly gone before the salsa ingredients--tomatoes and cucumbers--ripen.

My neighbor Connie digs up cilantro roots and puts them in her freezer. They are a great addition to winter soups. Cilantro root is also a key ingredient in Thai curries. In the Republic of Georgia, stems of cilantro are served on a plate, along with chives and stems of parsley as a salad, but eaten by hand, like an appetizer.

Cilantro is one of those herbs that people either love or hate. I have several friends who can't stand the taste of it, and other friends who adore it. It doesn't matter to cilantro if someone hates it. Cilantro just keeps growing, doing its own thing.

How do we respond when we feel someone doesn't like us? Most likely, we close down and send the dislike right back to them. I have a few friends who are able to shrug being disliked off with "That's their problem." But, i, for one, take it personally.

The Buddha challenges us to practice loving-kindness in these sorts of situations.

The kindest thing i can do with cilantro is eat it.

Steamed Vegetables

In this season of steamed or boiled vegetables for dinner, we are left with a saucepan of water that we know is perfectly nutritious.

From past experience, i can predict that if i save it for soup stock, it will still be cluttering up the refrigerator a week from now. So, i let it cool, and after dinner, i water a houseplant with that green bean water, that potato water, that broccoli water.

When we get steamed, or even come to boiling, we can turn that unwholesome mind state into a wholesome mind state simply by noting out loud: "Steaming. Steaming. Steaming." or "Boiling. Boiling. Boiling." or "Worry. Worry. Worry." (or whatever your favorite unskillful mind state is :).

As we note or label out loud, our unskillful mind state cools down, and we water our daily mindfulness practice.

Photo from sarahbrownskitchengarden.wordpress.com

Sorrel Soup

French sorrel is enjoying this cool weather. I collect a bunch of the spinach-looking leaves to boil in chicken broth and then puree for a delicious lemony soup.

I usually think of sorrel soup as a spring tonic, but the sorrel is performing much better since i transplanted it into my spring/fall garden--a south-facing inclined microclimate that is protected from the prevailing northwesterly winds.

How can we transplant ourselves into a microclimate that supports our mindfulness practice? Our protected area may be as close as the other side of the house, sheltered from the prevailing winds of family life or of the media.

Plant yourself in your meditation area for a few minutes every day, and in a few months, you may be surprised by your own harvest. Taste delicious calm.

Photo from sustainableeats.com