In the garden for about three hours this morning. Still plenty to do. First harvest today of peppers, potatoes, tomatoes, and garlic. I will pick some kale and arugula later for dinner. I hung some mint in the hallway to dry and will focus on drying some of the oregano, thyme, spicy oregano tomorrow. I will make pesto with the basil later this week to eat and freeze for dinners to come.
But the harvests that are equally as important to me are the ones I reap simply by working in the garden. Much is planted there — with celebration, promise, and nurturance there is also grief and loss, inadequacies, failures, personal fears, financial worries, complications with colleagues, family, and friends. The harvest I take away —redemption, love, generosity of spirit, gratitude. It’s all there— the stories and energies I have carried into the garden, into this particular garden, for the last twenty-five years, add layers of flavor to all that is harvested there. It is the most tangible place I know of my and my family’s history, narrative, and emotional life.
Though occasionally there are some “volunteers” (plants that just show up in the garden), we always, with or without intention, reap what we sow.