The Real Value of Food

It's difficult to think anything but pleasant thoughts while eating a homegrown tomato. ~Lewis Grizzard



I've been spending a lot of time thinking about food lately.  Not in a gluttonous way, mind you.  Rather, as a kind of spiritual practice, really.  The famine in the horn of Africa has been haunting my quiet places ever since I first saw these pictures and I can't shake the feeling I get, deep in my non-starving gut.  The never ending questions have frothed up from somewhere beyond deep within me and I've struggled to know how to move forward.  The most paralyzing question is the one that I always end up landing on and getting stuck in: "How can I continue to go on living my life of abundance here when I know that so many are suffering there?"

I mean that with all seriousness.  How can/shall/do I go on?

How do I, as a follower of Jesus, reconcile my entitled existence with the suffering of others?

What am I supposed to do?

As much as I know nothing, I do believe this... the Spirit of the Living God, the One who breathed me into existence, is breathing something else into my deepest places.  His whisper tells me that what I can do

nay,
what I must do
is this:

share what I have.

Although there are many voices within that want to say, "go there! be among them"

I know I am here, for now, and this is what I must do.  share.


We grow some of our own food.  We also had big dreams of being more self-sufficient when we first bought this place.  Those ideals have been greatly humbled by the sheer magnitude of that task, even though that is the very thing we expect those who are starving half-way around the world to do.  Be self-sufficient. 

But we lean on.  We learn more each year and we do what we can.  I know, though, that we could do more and I am living into that understanding.  To grow your own food and to divine all the multitudes of ways to store and preserve that bounty is a process.  And we are such novices.   
But then we have met others who share this desire.  Those who grow children and food and hope.  Those who knead life and prayers into their daily bread.  Those who love their animals and respect and honor the gift those animals share with the farm.  Because isn't that what all of these are, really?  Gifts.
 
So we enter into relationship with folks and animals and life and wonder.  We try, as much as we can, to choose the gift, rather than the trinkets offered everywhere else and as a result, we enter into a sacred place.
 

"You mustn’t wish for another life. You mustn’t want to be somebody else. What you must do is this:
'Rejoice evermore.

Pray without ceasing.

In everything give thanks.'

I am not all the way capable of so much, but those are the right instructions."

--Wendell Berry

We are trying to learn the real value of our food, to better understand what all went into the very food we put in our mouths. 

Understand, though...we are but novices.  We are still, very much, Americans...the majority of whom rarely think about their food, much less sit down to enjoy it.  We don't always make the virtuous choice, the humble choice, the sacred choice.  We still sometimes eat to satiate some other hunger rather than to celebrate the gift.  But we stumble on...reaching...hoping.

We strive for the relationship, the connection.  Because that's when you can't help but share.

(bread by Renee's Breads and milk fresh from a cow named Chocolate at Full Plate Farm)

 

And so I continue to count the gifts:

--a weekend full of being together, listening, laughing

--so many colors in the garden right now and a surprise vegetable, courtesy of that beloved compost (maybe something a chicken ate and passed on as a gift?!)

--a string of ruby peppers hanging in our kitchen, drying, waiting to add needed warmth to winter stews

--sharing the gift with our chickens...oh how they love our offerings of rinds and peels and seeds

--how the chickens give us gifts in return...beautiful eggs in varying shades of brown

--swirls of cinnamon that make the kitchen smell like home

--milk with full on cream that is living and breathing and "tastes like grass", according to August

--the hard lessons learned through chores that bend and shape and make little boys stronger

--sitting around the fire circle on a Sunday night, listening to owls and figuring out where North is and talking about what will become of the Earth

--falling asleep with a book in hand

 

 

This Organic Life

I've been thinking a lot lately about organic living and how, for me, it is so much more than just the foods that I choose to eat or the chemicals that I choose to avoid. It's inevitable, really, this organic life.

I couldn't get away from it when I witnessed the arrival of the cicadas earlier this summer. When they covered the grass beneath my feet, emerging from some deep hole within which they've remained hidden for year upon year and I fell asleep to and woke to the endless wooshing of their wings, rubbing together endlessly, as they sought out their mates.

But then, almost as quickly as they arrived, they left.  In spirit, that is, because all around they left reminders of their presence.  A mini foreshadowing of a rapturous exit from this world.  One day they were here, the next, no more.



And then, there is the garden.  We got started much later than is reasonable this year.  Delayed by the seemingly endless Spring rains that made tilling and cultivating impossible to do well,
we waited. 
And waited. 

When others were already starting to harvest their first yellow squash or zucchini, we were just beginning. 

But we were armed with something different this year. 

Chicken manure. 

Like a slow, magical brew, it has been cooking for over a year.  Chicken waste is too strong to use straight from the coop.  It must be tempered by time and patience.   As it sits in its pile, quiet and unassuming, a mysterious thing is happening deep inside.  What was once waste begins to cure.  Temperature and moisture and air dance together in a mystical trinity, working together for good.  What it becomes is like gold.

 Into this pile of what, in another setting, would be considered trash, waste, crap, we boldly place our seeds.  We do this because we believe that good will come of it.  We do this because our experience has shown us that there is promise in the pile.

Even though every year that we work this soil, more rocks make their way to the surface, as do other remnants of life gone by, the fact that we have this pile of gold dust to mix in makes all the difference.
It doesn't matter that ugly things have been hidden here.  It doesn't matter that others didn't care for it like we would have if given the opportunity.  It doesn't matter that this dirt didn't produce anything for years.  We are allowed access to a miracle. 

A miracle that testifies to an impossibility:  from death comes life.

"...where God is making new life, not a day goes by without his unfolding grace..." {2 Corinthians 4:16, The Message}

I couldn't help but smile when I traced my finger through the soil to make safe havens for my seeds and I came across cicada shells in the dirt.

...from death comes life.

So now, our seeds have transformed into plants.  The tomatoes reach upwards, guided skyward by strings that assist them towards the sun. 

Now there is fruit.

Thanks be to God.

"For if you go poking about the world, intent on keeping the candle of consciousness blazing, you must be ready to give thanks at all times.  Discrimination is not allowed.  The flame cannot gutter and fail when a cold wind whistles through the house.

Thanksgiving, thanksgiving.  All must be thanksgiving.

It took thirty-eight thousand Levites to give thanks to God in David's day; every morning and every evening the shifts changed.  Four thousand were needed just to carry the hacked carcasses of cattle, and another four thousand were needed to sing about it.  The place reeked of blood, was soaked in blood.  The priests stood around gnawing and chewing and giving thanks.  They did not cross-stitch their gratitude on samplers to frame and hang on the wall.  They wrote their thanks in blood on the doorposts every day.

Thanksgiving is not a task to be underaken lightly.  It is not for dilettantes or aesthetes.  One does not dabble in praise for one's own amusement, nor train the intellect and develop perceptual skills to add to his repertoire.  We're not talking about the world as a free course in art appreciation.  No.  Thanksgiving is not a result of perception; thanksgiving is the access to perception."

--From And the Trees Clap Their Hands, by Virginia Stem Owens

And so I continue to count...

--breezes that cut the blazing heat

--the rumble of thunder that tells me that it is raining somewhere

--boys that turn 9 and still want me close

--friends that own cows (named Chocolate!) and share their abundance with us

--discovering like-minded souls and bearing mine to them

--the wonder of imagination and the capturing of such in amazing stories and books

--an impending anniversary that sweetens the week

--conversations around the dinner table that create laughter and good feelings

--the promise of new learning opportunities and wonderful people with whom to share such gifts

--today

First Hard Frost

"I see, when I bend close, how each leaflet of a

climbing rose is

bordered with frost,  

the autumn counterpart of the dewdrops of

summer dawns.

The feathery leaves of yarrow are thick with

silver rime

and dry thistle heads rise like goblets plated with

silver catching the sun."

- Edwin Way Teale

The Simple Woman's Daybook

FOR TODAY


Outside my window...  the still, dead air of a very hot August day.

I am thinking...  that it doesn't help anyone or anything to long for different circumstances.

I am thankful for...  blessed, heavenly air-conditioning.

From the learning rooms...  today was devoted to the reading of tales...Harry Potter, Hank the Cowdog, the daily comics...

From the kitchen...  our first canteloupes of the season (yeah!).  They are large and beautiful and juicy and delicious.

I am wearing...  shorts and a tank top, my summer uniform, evidently.

I am creating...  photographs that have depth and beauty.

I am going...  to my hometown this weekend for my 20th high school reunion.  Thankfully, I am more excited than apprehensive.  I guess I have matured a bit since those days.

I am reading...  The Art of Mending, by Elizabeth Berg, as well as numerous resources for nature journaling.

I am hoping...  for a "settling" into gently organized routines that allow for flexibility yet provide some security.

I am hearing...  the rattling of a rawhide bone being flung across my kitchen floor.  It is the perfect distraction for a dog that demands much.

Around the house...  there are strewn Legos, books, balsa wood airplanes, newspapers, and vine ripened tomatoes.

One of my favorite things...  is peanut butter with crackers or apples for a morning snack.

A few plans for the rest of the week:  to bake lemon tea cakes and banana bread, make some homemade salsa and carefully organize "stuff" for two separate family trips.

Here is picture for thought I am sharing...

The chickens are trying to find shade anywhere they can.  With a heat index of 110, who can blame them?

 
 
From The Simple Woman's Daybook

Things I LOVE about Spring

Spring has officially moved into these parts but it has an inferiority complex of sorts and thinks it is Summer so it has been, well, hot.  Like 82 degrees hot.  Five days in a row.  Then some more days in a row.  My perennial herb garden on the side of the house looks like it has always been there and I could easily begin harvesting leaves for meals if I wanted to.  Creeping thyme, lavender, tarragon, chamomile, sage, oregano and a gargantuan horseradish plant (I know, not an herb but...).  We're looking to add rosemary to the perennial bed and then we will have basil, cilantro and parsley in our other small bed by the house.  That bed is also coming into its own with brussel sprouts, turnips, broccoli, cauliflower, lettuce and spinach.  And we haven't even tilled or sowed the "real" garden yet!  The tomato seedlings for that plot are growing upstairs in our window sills.  I have to give all credit to my husband, John, for making this all happen. I take care of the herb and flower beds but he does all the dirty work for the vegetables.  Growing things, and growing them well, takes work, yes but it is oh so very worth it.  We are still eating tomatoes and squash from our freezer and last night I made pasta with pesto that John had frozen at the end of the season last year.  So, the cycle begins anew.  I wanted to take a moment, though, to simply list some things that make my heart glad.  It has been said that "thanksgiving is the soil in which joy thrives" and thus, I want to share some of my joy.

Things I Love About Spring:

1. The return of the Eastern Phoebes that have come back, once again, and built a nest in our barn's lean-to, only feet away from last year's location.  They craft beautiful places to lay and raise their young, perfectly "nest" shaped, covered in green moss and lichen and cleverly located on top of a empty light box in our rafters.  We can sneak a peek inside if we bring a ladder.  Last year, every one of their eggs hatched and fledged successfully.  We're hoping for the same outcome this year.

2.  The deafening songs of, first, the Spring Peepers and then the chorus frogs and bull frogs.  Our neighbors across the road have about a 5 acre lake for their backyard and so we have access to a wonderful natural observatory.  We explored the edges quite a bit towards the end of winter and we have enjoyed watching the plant and animal life come alive with the warming temperatures.  We're hoping to do a lot of fishing from the banks this spring and summer.

3.  The way the woods behind our house fill up with green foliage, almost overnight, and provide an instant natural screen that obscures any evidence of a subdivision behind us.  One morning, last week, I woke up to discover that we lived "in the woods", not plopped down in the middle of development.

4.  The fact that my boys want to be outside constantly.  Sometimes, it is just to sit on their rope swings in the walnut trees and quietly think and observe.  My dad always wonders, "What are they thinking about?"  The proper answer would probably be just another question, "What aren't they thinking about?"  Sometimes, I'll find them stretched out in the grass, soaking up the sun like a lizard.  Other times, I'll find one of them talking to the chickens, asking them about their day or what they are up to.  Aidan has stated, on numerous occasions, that he is able to understand the chickens and that they, too, can understand him.  I don't doubt it one bit.
August insists that we eat lunch outside every day, which is fine with me.  Maybe this year I can find the perfect cafe table at a garage sale and we can dine in true alfresco style.  I did fine some great little glass lanterns (clear and green) in the dollar bin at Target.  They only had three left, all of which I bought, and I would have bought more if I could.  Now, August insists that we read outside, by candlelight, before bed.

5.  The fact that, because we choose our home as our base for learning, we can fully succumb to the sickness of "Spring Fever" and take everything outside.  Or we can make "outside" our focus for the day.  The flexibility to enjoy this glorious season is such a gift.

I'm sure I will add to this list but I just wanted to share a little of the joy.

Have a beautiful Spring.

Catch up time

August on a friend's zip line.

"Mr. Meanie" who will be one of the first roosters to be butchered.

One morning's harvest.

A sampling of our refrigerator pickles that are threatening to take over our kitchen!

Our living room could now be dubbed Lego Land after Aidan's 7th birthday. The boys spend hours (I'm not exaggerating!) constructing all varieties of vehicles, space ships, houses, weapons, you name it. It is so fun to watch them create endlessly.

Aidan is now officially an independent reader. Why I ever worried about him, I'll never know. He loves to read the comics in the paper everyday and he pours over history and story books by the dozens. My challenge now is to provide him with a rich and varied selection of materials from which to choose.

Aidan and I share a birthday kiss. It really is something special to share your birthday with your first born. What a gift, the day that he was born and every year thereafter!!!

This is Beulah. We drove to the ends of the earth to get her for free. Her dad was an Australian Shepherd and her mom was a Beagle-mix. She is absolutely adorable and she is absolutely more work than I EVER imagined. Half of why I haven't blogged this summer is because of the immense amount of time I spend making sure that she isn't peeing in the house, sneaking into a room where she doesn't belong or biting holes in my pant legs as I walk about minding my own business. It has been an intense month and I'm still praying that it will all be worth it in the end. When she is calm and sweet and loving, I get a foretaste of glory divine, when she is all that I wanted in a dog. In the meantime, I'm really trying not to curse more than ten times a day.

We've been busy this summer and thus there has been very little blogging on my part. What with chickens, a new puppy, a garden that won't stop and all of the other things that make summer "summer" I've simply put this to the wayside. But life is full and good and tiring and challenging and I want to write about all of that. I'm trying to figure out how to make use of my very early rising to care for the chickens and Beulah dog, as that seems a logical time and space within which to write. But it's hard.
And then we will be starting to reintroduce "school" to our daily routine soon so...
you see what happens.
I will do my best.

Some more first peeks at the garden

Well, we're beginning to see the beginning fruits of our labor (John's loving attention to all of our seedlings all spring and my tilling contributions as well as seed planting). We have a gazillion green tomatoes all over our plants--Beefsteaks, romas, a yellow variety and several unknowns, as they are volunteers that shot up in our small kitchen garden just off the back porch. We are battling some end blossom rot on a couple of plants but John thinks that can be solved by adding some lime. The crookneck squash and zucchini (a very pale Italian green variety) are also emerging, however we are also having some blossom issues with them that we don't understand. John has scoured all of his grardening books, to no avail. If anyone has any ideas, they would be greatly appreciated. We've staked the tomatoes with both good old tomato cages, as well as "bamboo" stakes and some are just left to make do on their own. The cucumbers have two kinds of stakes, one created from fiberglass poles connected with twine and another arch support created with salvage something or other that John found in our barn. I like it the best because it is the most aesthetically pleasing thing in our garden, asied from the plants themselves.
We finally got the melons in the ground and they have lots of room to sprawl. The boys are most excited about them.
All in all, it is starting to look like a real garden. We're learning tons everyday about what we did right and what we could most definitely improve upon next year. But it is incredibly exciting to watch things come to life and to know that you had a small part in that.

Miracle

The first gatherings of the garden in May of salads, radishes and herbs made me feel
like a mother about her baby - how could anything so beautiful be mine. And this emotion
of wonder filled me for each vegetable as it was gathered every year. There is
nothing that is comparable to it, as satisfactory or as thrilling,
as gathering the vegetables one has grown.
- Alice B. Toklas


Tonight's dinner was made miraculous by the first green leaf lettuce and baby spinach salad harvested from our kitchen garden. I kept it very simple: a little olive oil in the salad bowl, a big clove of garlic rubbed all around within, greens tossed in with a little more olive oil, a splash of red wine vinegar and salt and pepper. That's all. But that was everything! Delicioso, as my mom would say. How wonderfully thrilling to taste living food. Truly wonderful.
The salad was beautifully complemented by another simple food--parmesan crisps. August just couldn't believe me that they were made with just parmesan. "What's below the cheese, Mom?"
"Nothing. It's just made from parmesan cheese, cooked on a cookie sheet."
"But it's just sooooo good!"
Too bad neither boy would try the salad. Stinkers!
Oh, the three tomato pasta sauce wasn't half bad either.

All in all, a wonderful way to share a meal together.