Rites of Passage/Seasons

Jan 2008

Usually when we speak of “rites of passage,” it refers to the transition from adolescence to adulthood. Just as a garden experiences its seasons, so must we transition from one form to another. It has been my experience that in our society, many of us have bypassed this passage in favor of perpetual puberty. The publicity-seeking, narrow-hipped, long-legged, skinny models of perfection and grownup little boys paid well to play with a ball are symbolic of a culture where youth is adulated. Let us take a moment to peer inside the soul of the adulators.

The adulators are those who renounce their own lives in favor of acting as spectators of others who seem to be participating in the “real” game of life. These live to watch others and perhaps imagine they are someone else. They are more than just the groupies, the sycophants, the flatterers; they are the sad, silent majority who give up their very lives to rub elbows with the rich and famous, even if it is only in their imaginations. Well, it’s the trendy thing to do.

The Urban Dictionary uses words such as “wannabes” and “fake” in its definition of “trendy”. Maybe within their desire to be trendy are sleeping souls whose true longing is to discover who they really are. I hope so, because where they exist is cold and dark and confusing. Maybe they are getting a little sick of prostituting the self to others. Maybe adulators simply wish to be accepted, as do we all. However, if one has to betray oneself for that acceptance, then it’s a miserable existence.

Is it possible for adulators to escape from this type of slavery and begin to really live? Maybe, but it requires a rite of passage to do so. To enter within this passage, one must be willing to experience the full range of emotions from agony to ecstasy and all points in between. One’s “way of seeing” must change in order to open the floodgates of the truly emotional life. This means that the many forms of sedation must fall by the wayside.

How does modern man sedate himself? Pharmaceuticals, of course. Or televison or alcohol or computer games or pornography. I could list at least a hundred more, but you get the idea. Does this mean that anything that soothes us must be avoided? Of course not. Once the transformation has come about, we naturally find ways to relax that do not dim our awareness; a glass of wine with friends, a hot bath, loving sex, deep breathing. Sometimes the concepts of relaxation and sedation get confused. As long as legitimate anxiety is allowed its voice, neurotic anxiety will not appear begging to be sedated.

What is legitimate anxiety? Anything that bothers or worries us should be examined closely, not shooed away with sedation. Before we “treat” any physical ailment, we should scrutinize its origins. Our psyche/soul seeks to communicate with our conscious mind and if we aren’t paying attention, it will materialize as pain or discomfort in our bodies. Why do I have this sore throat?

Maybe my throat hurts because Aunt Ethel came to visit today and I remember the time when I was a child and she severely beat me for expressing my opinion. Now when I see her, I unconsciously shut down my power of speech. I resolve that the next time she visits I will tell her how I feel. Bingo, sore throat gone. Try it, it works. A side benefit to this might be a deepening of my relationship with Aunt Ethel. Or she might go away and stay away. Either way, it’s okay.

Either way, I’m left a little lighter for listening to the still, small voice within me. Sometimes this heaviness we feel is due to small burdens easily shed. Other times, it’s a big one, one packed with a painful emotional charge. Maybe confronting the more powerful demons will risk severing long-term relationships. This is when we must step back and consider if we can “live without” a particular person or persons.

So many human relationships are parasitic. For me, I would rather be alone than suffer a parasite, a leech that leaves me drained. Honesty is truly the best policy. Plastic may last a long time in the landfill, but it should not be the operative word used to describe relationships. Anyone who wishes a deep relationship with me must be willing to lay it all on the line, as must I. As each layer of my real self is exposed to the light of day, a small rite of passage has been accomplished and an opening into ecstasy made possible.

A rite of passage refers to the transition from adolescence to adulthood. It’s a real challenge to reach maturation in our society. We are programmed to believe we can make our dreams come true simply be rubbing up against what we want, that there is no price to be paid for happiness and contentment. Just as there is the manifestation of seasons in the garden, so are there rites of passage, should we choose to accept the challenge.   

May 2012

July 2012

October 2011

 

 

 

 

Tomato Late Blight

If not for Phytophthora infestan I might have been born in Ireland, if family lore is correct. This blight features the nasty spore that infected potatoes in the 1840’s, causing a famine and driving the Irish exodus to the New World. Well, I’m here now and ironically, that same plant disease has made me hungry—for tomatoes. 
 

2004 September Tomatoes

 

2010 July Late Blight

I noticed Late Blight first in 2008. In 2009, it wiped out tomato crops bigtime in the Northeast. 2008 was the year I first noticed “cobwebs” covering anything not moving and bathing continuously. 2008 was the first year I fully awakened to the fact of chemtrailing; that webbing contains some pretty awful stuff and weakens all living things. 

2008 Mysterious Webs

2009 Infected Tomato

  I’ve looked at old photos of the Garden of Nemesis and can see only small infections of Late Blight before 2008. Every year it’s gotten progressively worse until 2013, when I lost most of my crop. I plant resistant hybrids, I rotate, I mulch, I bag and remove the bad stuff, yet it is still a plague. As far as fungicides go, I won’t kill earthworms with copper. Nor will I spray toxins that kill bees and birds and humans. I have to find another way.
 

2011 July Blight

After this year’s disappointment, I determined I must let the garden soil rest for a few years and hopefully recuperate. I can’t let the whole vegetable garden lie fallow, but there will be no tomatoes in the vegetable plot in 2014.

I spent a good amount of time and labor to prepare the front southwest corner of the lot for a small tomato patch next year. That corner was the original home of a flowering quince bush that we had to remove because the neighbor had trouble seeing to back out of her driveway. Then I planted tall prairie bloomers there because it gets good sun and it’s hard to drag the hose up there for watering. This fall, I removed everything and once again tried to dig up the roots of the old flowering quince bush, which continues to send up shoots. 

2013 Corner of Lot Before Excavation

 Once all that was done, I dug holes and added a few pieces of old firewood at the bottom for mini-hugels. Then I piled on fresh brown and green clippings and covered it with dirt. I don’t know if the compost pile is compromised, so I will add no finished compost. Is it possible there are spores in there that have managed to proliferate in spite of the fact I have never added infected plants or fruit? I just don’t know, so I will not take the chance.

It’s possible I have missed-diagnosed the problem, as my garden potatoes have had no blight. I count myself lucky there. The bottom line is this: the tomatoes will have fresh “dirt” that hasn’t grown vegetables before. I’m also thinking of adding a plant or two on the opposite side in the front, beside the strawberry bed, well away from the actual garden plot. There are few places on this property that have had no finished compost, which I assume is contributing to the problem.

2011 Tomatoes for Canning

It’s very hard to protect plants from this dread disease, short of growing inside. These spores float in the air, so it’s possible my little experiment will fail. Regardless, I have to give it the best possible chance for success. If you happen to pass by out front, you can grab a ruby orb to snack on while you walk.

The Life and Times of the One Tree Garden

2005 BEFORE ONE TREE GARDEN

Back in 2005, before I ever thought about the One Tree Garden or the Bird's Nest Tree, I was driving nearby in an old part of town and saw earth-moving equipment at work. I had heard about the new project to demolish an old nursing home on the river and replace it with condos, so out of curiosity, I pulled over. I spotted a huge pile of limestone, exactly the rock I had been using to build my garden beds. It looked like free to me. I love curb shopping.

2005 STONE FROM THATCHER BLAKE HOME

I walked out into the fray and got the attention of the young man operating a front-end loader and he turned it off to speak to me. We can only guess what he thought of this crazy woman. He was very nice and explained the pile of rock was what was left when the guys from the local museum finished excavating the very first home built in our small city. I was very excited and asked him if I could have some. He looked around a little nervously and said, “Well, I’m only going to bury it, sure”

2005 OCTOBER BIRD'S NEST TREE

I pulled up with my pickup truck and began throwing into the bed whatever a small, almost- elderly woman could handle. The young man motioned for me to get out of the way and proceeded to use his machine to lift a pile and dump it into my truck. The weight was obvious and flattened the rear tires. I flapped my arms and dipped my head in thanks and took off with my loot.

2007 ONE TREE GARDEN

 When I got home, my sweet husband just shook his head. I told him we needed to think this over carefully, because wherever we pushed the rocks off the truck would be their permanent home. He told me it was my decision; he passed the buck. We pulled in the front gate, backed up and created the little One Tree Garden. Now all I needed was the perfect tree. 

2010

2011

 When I saw the Bird's Nest tree, I just knew. It was the one. The perfect one. 

2013

Fence Dreaming

We wished for a front fence for several years. The Garden of Nemesis would be prettier framed and maybe those who used our garden for a cut-through to the alley would get the message that after eighty-some years vacant, this city lot was now occupied. Despite the easy maintenance we didn’t want plastic, heaven forbid. We wanted picket, but not straight and severe and certainly not white. We bought fencing and my husband customized the pickets according to his imagination. 

POSTS ON GROUND AWAITING PLACEMENT

We finally built the fence in 2005.

 THIS IS BEFORE THE FRONT YARD AND THE "ONE TREE GARDEN" WAS PLANTED

We were right in that it beautifully framed the garden and the foot-traffic began to respect the boundary. Unfortunately, we assumed that to make it secure, we should add cement to the holes; maybe in the Arizona desert, but not in northern Illinois, as it collects moisture and contributes to rot. 

2006 BIRDS NEST TREE PLANTED INSIDE LIMESTONE

We had a lot of snow in 2010, and the speeding snowplows threw the heavy wet mess against the fence, taking a section down. It was no fun digging out the old cement. We made a new section.

SNOWPLOW DAMAGE 2010

In 2012, when the street was unexpectedly icy, a driver took out another section. At least it wasn’t the same area. We have now corrected our mistake and replaced all of the sections, sans cement. 

NOVEMBER 2012

Once again, The Garden of Nemesis has her lovely frame.

Coping With Darkness

The garden is getting drowsy. Soon it will sleep under a blanket of snow. The soil has been augmented with whatever organic material at hand and little critters such as earwigs and earthworms are still rather close to the surface, eating and excreting. The garter snakes are already snoozing. The squirrels are busy digging holes in the lawn to bury winter eats. The cats are getting fat and furry. Most of the birds in The Garden of Nemesis are regulars who will entertain us at the feeders all winter. It is dark.

BIRDS NEST TREE IN "ONE TREE GARDEN"

 It is the darkness, the lack of sunlight, that places the burden of lethargy upon my body. My metabolism slows down and I crave fats and sugar to convert to fat. I want hot chocolate. I want to sleep, to hibernate. That’s fine for the young, but for us older folks, to stop, even temporarily, is to seize up. I must retrieve my yoga mat. And get out my sculpting materials and tools. 

 I only sculpt in the dark of winter. When the days get longer again and the snow melts and I can see that the tulips and daffodils are sending up shoots through the soil, I begin to wrap up that particular type of art. Usually by this time in the spring I have the bedding plants underway, and their care is all-consuming. For a small donation, my friends contract with me to start their future gardens. My little gas range holds cookie sheets filled with germinating seeds. After they poke through the soil, they’re moved to the enclosed porch to sunbathe. I’ve discovered that starting plants inside is as much an art as sculpting; an art that takes dedication and finesse.

The little seedlings are much like human infants in they can’t always tell you what they need, you must anticipate their requirements. If they are too wet or too dry, or don’t get enough light, they may end up in the compost. Not only that, but one must also plan far ahead for the exact plants that may be needed. I always end up donating leftovers to the neighborhood food bank. I have been known to crowd in a few of these babies that were not in my original plan. This year it was celery and cucumbers.

The first two bush cucumber plants I set out early sickened and died. On the other hand, the two latecomers I had reluctantly stuck in a corner produced bushels of cukes, which were spread around the neighborhood for salads, pickling and juicing. I even froze Ziplocks filled with the blended nectar of cukes. I retrieved a bag the other day and used its contents in a slushy apple drink. Just thinking of the miracle of germination and nurturing those small green sprigs of life, well, it lifts my spirits in the dark days of winter.

How I Made Quince Preserves

Step #1 Find the fruit

Back in September, I wrote about the surprise and wonder of discovering the bushes I had planted in 2002 were flowering quince and on how I wished to do a little urban foraging on the university grounds from which they came. Well, a few days ago, we did.

It was in the low fifties and spitting rain as we donned wellies and slickers. When my sweet husband asked me why we were doing this in the rain I said, “Because it’s now a choice between relatively warm rain and utter cold. We’ve already had a handful of nights in the mid-twenties and if there are quinces out there, the woods may have cooled enough to freeze them the very next time. Besides, it’s not really raining.” He raised one eyebrow.

We took along a medium-sized backpack I had lined with a tall, skinny cardboard box (in case the fruit was mushy) and several plastic grocery bags tucked into the pocket. We entered university property via a back road and drove through the woods close to the place where we remembered digging the little suckers that were to become our beautiful flowering quince bushes. Jorge interrupted my pleasant reverie with, “Let’s go to Security and let them know what we’re doing.” I told him he really knew how to take the fun out of foraging. In the end, I didn’t argue, as I didn’t want getting shot at to be Step #2 in the process of making quince preserves.

About that time, we spotted the white car with the university logo on its door. We pulled up alongside and I explained I was alumni and we were looking for quinces. I was surprised by the initial fear in his eyes and he was surprised that two nutcases wanted to get wet hunting for, what? We parked the car in a far-flung lot and took the first path that presented itself. As we entered this parallel world, I told Jorge to look back into the shrubbery for yellow globes. Goes to show you what I know.

GARDEN OF NEMESIS MAPLE TREE 2013

It wasn’t long before the trail split and narrowed and we found ourselves on a deer path. Fallen leaves were slippery underfoot as it drizzled and dripped from above. In the distance we could hear traffic, but it seemed far removed from this woodland paradise. Suddenly, we entered a maple tree colony and were bathed in buttery diffused light. We stood in silent marvel. The canopy was a ceiling of bright yellow.

In the other world of debt ceilings and government shutdowns and unemployment and random shootings and GMOs and chemtrails and nuclear waste leaking into the ocean and atmosphere…well, Mother Nature teaches us how to go on. No matter how ruthlessly and thoughtlessly her children treat her sacred gift, she keeps selflessly giving.

It wasn’t long after that when we stumbled upon the fallen crop of a quince tree, said to be not as tasty as the fruit of the quince bush. We gathered about fifty quinces that were not yellow and certainly not mushy; they were greenish yellow-brown, hard as rocks and not one was bigger than a tennis ball.

For the rest of the hike, we were reasonably satisfied our romp in the woods was not just fun, but practical. We never came across the quince bushes and the rain became soaking, so we reluctantly made our way to the car.

Upon arriving home, I immediately washed my little treasures. Did I take any photos? Sorry, I forgot in all the excitement. Now for

Step #2 Decide what to make from the fruit

I had collected several recipes from the internet, but all of them involved peeling and chopping. These things are hard and I simply wasn’t up to it, as I still had a load of apples to process. The apples, in fact, gave me the idea to make quince butter.

Step #3 Quarter the Fruit and Put it on to Boil

I used one of my good jelly pots and set the quinces to boil. After two hours, I deemed the fruit soft enough to put through the Foley Food Mill. I realize most kitchens aren’t equipped with one of these handy devices. According to E How, “A food mill is a utensil used for mashing and sieving various foods. It should be used for foods that require impeccable smoothness. The food mill outdates many of its contemporary competitors, such as the food processor or blender. Though this hand-operated kitchen tool may seem a bit archaic, it offers a quality of food that many other appliances cannot.”

Step #4 Foley Food Mill the fruit

A guy from Minnesota patented this mill in 1933 and my mother had one, which she considered very modern. I bought one at a garage sale years ago, although they’re not expensive to buy new. This food mill wastes nothing, which is handy when you have very little of the food you’re processing. It catches and sifts out seeds, cores, fibers and skin, leaving a perfectly smooth sauce. Using a blender or food processor requires you to remove unwanted pieces of produce yourself, or grind them up, so it’s a time saver in the end.

Quinces are seedier than apples, thus harder to mill and more time consuming. When I finished this task I had about three quarts of sauce.

Step #5 Put back on the stove to cook down

I used the same pot to cook down the fruit, as my other one was filled with quartered apples already cooking. Cooking down any fruit takes time and patience. Both quince and apple sauce need no pectin in order to “jell,” they are full of it. I added a few shakes of clove powder as I could always add more later to taste. I also threw in a couple cups of sugar. I added a third cup later as I determined it was not sweet enough. The burner must remain on low and this has to be stirred often. A good jelly pan will ensure it does not stick and scorch.

As it cooked, a wonderful aroma filled the house. It began to change color; it went from beige-brown to a deep, rich burgundy color. The taste was just as heavenly. It had evaporated about one third of its mass and finally sheeted off the spoon and was ready to jar.

Step #6 Jar and process

The jars and lids were hot and sterile, so I filled them with the precious quince “butter”; it yielded nine half pints. The jars went back into the canner to boil for another ten minutes. When the timer went off, I lifted the jars onto a thick towel on the counter and, with the taste of quince still in my mouth, stood for a moment to admire my work. It was good.