For every season....

I was at a birthday party in Portland on Saturday.  The first person I met happened to be a really great woman who grew up in Long Beach.  Immediately she asked me what had brought me to my adopted town.  I hesitated, as I am apt to do lately, and said, "I followed love".   And then quickly,  "Silly, I know".  After reassuring me it wasn't and telling her own tale of love followed, she asked if I was still with my Love.  Choking back emotion, I had to admit that, "No, he left me".  She waxed poetic about opportunities and new beginnings and what's bad can be good again.  And maybe she's right, but I'm not there yet.   So, she turned instead to asking me what I've been doing to help soldier on.  Canning I told her.  "I've been canning".

And I have.  I started in February, right after my Squeeze left.  I began with Blood Orange Marmalade.  It was my first attempt and it went okay, although the blood orange caramels I found on another Long Beach resident and photographer's site Matt Bites were an even bigger hit.  But, when Blood Oranges moved out of season I searched for what to do with the abundance of organic pears at Trader Joes and fell into a Ginger Pear Preserve courtesy of Emeril.  And for me, given my current ginger obsession, these little jars of ginger colored goodness were spoonfuls of happiness and a delight to give away.  But then with Spring deeply sprung and summer waiting anxiously around the corner,  you couldn't walk two feet at the farmers' market without being knocked down by sweet, sweet strawberries.  So, I turned to my new canning crush's website: Kevin West's Saving The Season.  There I was challenged to make Strawberry Preserves with Balsamic Vinegar and Black Pepper.  And, I did - gel testing with my antique plates and spoons which made it all the more sacred somehow.

Truthfully, other than a lick of the bowl at clean up, I haven't even tried it.  With the battle of my adrenals, thyroid, and sinus raging this summer,  I'm supposed to be off sugar.  So, there it sits in my pantry.   One jar got sent to Portland as a hostess gift along with a jar of each of the others and some zucchini bread with crystallized ginger and curry.   But, eating it isn't why I'm doing it.  Canning keeps me busy at night or on a weekend.  It forces me to focus on something that quite frankly requires, well, focus.  One mind-drift to days of old and you are looking at burnt sugar or shattered jars.  It requires me to be present.  Not thinking about a past that I miss or the future I fear or the fact that I'm alone in a big loft with only a new kitten to keep me company.   It keeps me productive and challenged and connected somehow because these jars of beautiful preserves and jams (and maybe as the summer creeps along veggies and tomatoes) are meant to be shared and gifted.  And they will be. 

Until then I'll mark the healing of my heart by the contents of the jars I've put up.  Time and seasons and heartache all move along.  And good will come of bad.  And maybe by Blood Orange Marmalade season next year I'll have more joy and surprises in my life than I can ever imagine.

Garden Work

R

Recently someone accused me of wasting time in my garden.  They said it wasn't hard work, that it was a place to hide out from problems and didn't have any component of exercising, this gardening stuff.  Essentially,  this person was saying that it wasn't a "productive" endeavor.  And I've been thinking about this statement a lot recently.

I have lifted heavy stones, dug trenches, laid bricks, carried 25 pound bags of dirt, after 25 pound bags of dirt blocks from a parking space to the garden, pounded trellises into the ground, dug deep holes, walked the length of the garden 10 times to get the water pressure right, graded a plot, built boxes and cubby holes, bent, twisted, and sweated all the while doing a crazy dance to shoo away bees and shake off ants.  A silly little app on my iphone says that 2 hours in the garden can burn almost 600 calories;   Two hundred less than moderate hiking and half as much as bicycling at a moderate rate. But more than 2 hours of golfing or guitar playing.  Or so says the app. 

And yes, I have lost four hours at a time there working, watering, and talking to gardeners and wanna be gardeners who stroll through the gates asking questions.  And sometimes being there gives me the space away from others and sometimes it gives people I love space away from me.  Sometimes the four hours spent there is on purpose for just that reason.  And sometimes it is because I am gloriously covered in dirt and sweat and lost in the work....

And maybe this isn't exactly a "productive" result - a small pitcher of violets, for instance.  But, it pleases me and that should be reason enough to support the gardener in your life.