The roots of community
07/13/2009

We’ve been eating from our new garden:  romaine, green leaf, arugula, and mizuna salad greens by the armful, a few sweet peas, tender broccoli and zucchini, and yesterday our first cucumber.  Last night for dinner I made a tart of sliced zucchini and tomatoes, sprinkled with parmesan, fresh basil and oregano.  It tasted so rich and alive, it was like eating a plate full of summer.

And the herbs!  Fresh basil and oregano are so unlike the flakes of detritus one shakes from a bottle, it seems wrong to call them by the same name.  (Or maybe those expiration dates mean something?)  A Greek salad with fresh oregano wakes up your taste buds like an early morning plunge into the ocean.

This morning we had buttermilk sausage made by Hank, the local grocer, from hogs raised locally on a pastured farm—NOT a CAFO—plus fresh raspberries from the farmers’ market on our pancakes.  After breakfast, Tux and I took our usual walk and saw that the service berries—which are very much like blueberries—have suddenly ripened. I plucked and ate juicy handfuls as we walked.  (My sister Beth says she loves the name “service berry.”  She wants to be a service berry.  She and her kids are sweet, juicy berries on the vine, ready to be of service!)

All this local eating is connecting me to our community in Washington in a way that I usually rely on people to do.  The people play a role, too: I think of the girl I bought my raspberries from, and Dana who sold me his lettuces before mine were ready, and Carolyn, who made my lemon basil vinegar, every time I prepare or eat a meal with their ingredients.  And how do you not fall in love with a land that spontaneously erupts in service berries, rose hips, wild raspberries, and choke cherries for your gustatory pleasure while walking? 

Growing our own food is also connecting me with our land in a way that I’ve seldom experienced in other places I’ve lived.  Truth be told, I’ve never been much good with plants.  I don’t speak their language and always feel helpless when their leaves turn yellow, start to droop, or succumb to invisible insects.  So the fact that a few packets of inert-looking seeds—some as tiny as salt grains—can now, a few weeks later, produce stems, leaves, flowers, and fruit is nothing short of miraculous! 

Despite my inexperience, our garden has no pests or bugs!  In fact, it is living proof that healthy soils create healthy plants (‘cause I’m sure as hell not doing it).  A soil test determined that our little plot has robust levels of nitrogen, phosphorus, potassium, calcium, zinc, organic matter, and half a dozen other nutrients.  It doesn’t need anything!  We have lots of birds, who seem absolutely delighted with everything on the property and perch nearby to sing and trill as I work.  They probably help us with the pest populations, as well. 

At dinner time, I walk out to the garden and see what is available to put in the salad or steam on the stove.  When I become overwhelmed with the quantities of tomatoes, cucumbers, green beans, cantaloupes or corn, my friend Christine will help me convert them into salsas, sauces, pickles, and other jars of produce that will line the shelves of our new root cellar.  Thus, even in the winter I will be able to savor a taste of summer.