In the Garden: Winter Solstice 2009-2010

My birthday fell late in September, just as fall began to lower the curtains on the summer drama in the garden, reminding me how much nature can accomplish in a short summer season and what a blessing it has been to have had months full of fresh, nourishing food right outside my door. Equally important, it reminds me also of the need for rest.

My birthday gifts from the garden were plump raspberries, figs, Brandywine tomatoes bursting with juice, flowering basil, green beans and red peppers. And, there on my kitchen table, elegant in an antique turquoise vase, was a graceful bouquet of coral fuschia, a European variety with tubular flowers on a draping stem with iridescent, silken, deep green leaves veined with red-violet, brightening up the morning fog.? ?It was official—summer was over and the final harvesting and preservation were in full swing. Before the garden and I could rest for the dark, wet days of winter, there was still so much to do, and I felt the urgency that humans must have felt for millennia as the chill air replaces summer sun and leaves begin to brown and fall from the plants: the urge to do the final gathering of ripe fruits and preserve them for the winter, the urge to cultivate the juicy greens and give them nourishment, and to build a new compost pile of harvested, spent plants, chicken manure and fallen leaves to support next year’s new growth.? ?Now it is the winter solstice. Before I had a garden, winter was a SAD time—with lack of sunshine giving me the light-deprivation blues. Now the winter sadness is tempered by the joy of the winter garden, because I know it holds (literally) the seeds of future food that will sustain me throughout the coming year. I cherish the slower rhythm, so that the earth and I can both take a rest and have sweet dreams of seasons to come, while the leaves are gently decomposing and the worms are quietly and methodically eating their way through the wet dirt.? ?I have learned that that the sunlight is still here, stored in the harvested fruits and vegetables, and ready to nourish me with rich vitamins and richer memories, and this thought cheers me as I cozy up on the couch wrapped in a warm wool blanket.

The annual marathon of pears is complete, with jars of sauce labeled and stored in the pantry, and juicy tomatoes, roasted with olive oil, salt and pepper in a slow oven until they collapsed in their own savory juices, are packed in zip bags and stacked in the freezer, ready for soups and stews, spiced with dried herbs, to warm the cold nights of winter. Cubes of pesto, frozen in ice cube trays, then popped out into freezer bags, are stacked with the tomatoes in the freezer, while onions, pulled in late September rest in a dark spot in the pantry.

The last of the zucchinis, sliced into circles, and crisped into chips in the dehydrator, are ready to be dipped into pesto or hummus for a winter snack. Fresh bread from our wonderful local bakeries, spread with jams and fruit butters from my garden or honey from Hector’s bees or drizzled with olive oil from the Dexter’s olive groves, will accompany hot soups and stews from the summer’s bounty.? ?The garden has been and continues to be my greatest teacher. One thing I’ve learned this year for sure—plants are like children, some are stronger, some are weaker, some need more attention, some thrive no matter what they get and some don’t, no matter how much you give. Some just want to be left alone. Some plants will flourish under the worst of conditions—even volunteering to grow in the most improbable places (sunflowers popping up in the shade!) —and some plants will wilt and die even in the most rich, fertile soil.

There is a life span in each seed, and that life span remains a mystery. All we can do is give them the best we can, and hope for a good life and trust that they will live up to their own potential. And appreciate them wholeheartedly for what they give back. I’ve learned that gardening is always a partnership with nature and I have no control.? ?I’ve learned to coexist with the raccoons and cats digging in the garden. I’ve learned to plant extra for the birds. I’ve learned that strawberries are happier in great big, deep pots of compost than they are in hot clay soil in the ground, and that raspberries are the most robust and thirstiest of fruits. I’ve learned that squashes are crazy about chicken manure, and happily are the easiest and most prolific vegetables to grow and cook.

I’ve learned that basils greatly appreciate the shade of tomatoes, and that you can’t grow a sungold tomato from saved seed. I’ve learned that borage, rosemary, mint, lavender and passionflowers attract hundreds of bees. I’ve learned to listen closely as I take my daily walk in the garden, because the plants talk to me, tell me where they want to be, and when to plant them, and when it’s time to harvest. ? ?Here are some ideas for your own edible landscape—plant arugula, nasturtium, mustard, mint, Swiss chard, kale, parsley. Let some of them flower, and go to seed and drop their thousands of seeds onto the ground. Break off some of the dried seedpods and scatter them in sunny spots. Spread lots of compost on your beds. Pull out grassy weeds and learn how to recognize the sprouts of edible weeds.

Let the dandelions be. Be patient. In a couple of years, you will notice that your garden has been blessed with an edible carpet—straggly, but hardy and delicious. Then, as the time comes to plant your annual summer vegetables, just clear some space for them and allow them to coexist with their enduring and colorful neighbors, continuing to honor the flower and seed cycles.? ?As the gift-giving season is upon us, we want to treat those that we love. The garden gives the most enduring gifts—of nourishment, color, beauty, and sustenance. Mother Earth’s love—sunlight!—is fixed into the cells of the plants; it warms body and soul until the light of spring awakens the seeds.

Give gifts of jams, jellies, fruit butters, honey, home-baked goodies, local beeswax candles, locally made crafts, natural herbal body products, and massage. Be part of the circle of our community and the cycle of nature. Nourish each other and honor the time of rest.? ?I welcome your feedback, your questions and your support. Feel free to contact me at edibleweeds@yahoo.com. Let’s talk garden!