Another Day in the Country
‘Give us this day . . .’
© Another Day in the Country
If I would have needed to sustain myself from the proceeds of my little backyard garden this summer, my stomach would be growling, ravaged with hunger!
There’s been precious little — enough potatoes to last a week, enough tomatoes for salads and salsa for the summer, enough cucumbers for my favorite concoction (made with onions, cucs and tomatoes mixed together with either lemon or salad dressing to blend it), enough onions to last for a while, enough oregano to last all winter, very few peppers, even fewer green beans (because the bunnies were busy), and cabbage galore.
Some years there are enough tomatoes to can, but not this year. There is nothing more satisfying than going back to the pantry and picking up a jar of home-canned tomatoes to make spaghetti or soup.
My mother always delighted in her pantry shelves being full of canned goods, and she loved lining up the jars just so. She wanted them to look as beautiful as they tasted.
Her favorite treat other than her own canned peaches smothered in cream, was a jar of her canned tomatoes, opened for what she thought of as “salad.” Just sprinkle some sugar on them and enjoy! For her, it was dessert.
I planted some cucumbers late in hopes that they would produce before it freezes, but I doubt they’ll make it.
I picked the last of my petite tomatoes — their skins have become so resilient that I either have to resort to chewing 100 times or peeling them.
One tomato vine has evaded being desiccated to the point of extinction, but it still has a few green orbs growing, so I wish it well.
There wasn’t much to harvest — a pocket full of tomatoes and a very large, long, Armenian cucumber.
Of course, there were herbs still growing, and the last of the cabbages — not a lot to depend upon. The chickens and ducks would have had to carry me through with their eggs if I were truly dependent on this plot of ground.
For that reason, I’m always so thankful when I go to the food store.
Yesterday, we went to the big city, and I spent an hour wandering around Whole Foods.
I love going into that store with its beautiful vegetables, fruits and flowers. I always discover something new I’ve never tried, like dried mandarins or dried mango dipped in chili powder. You can tell I was haunting the dried-fruit aisle.
I stood so long in front of a cheese display, hunting for something I’d never tasted before or some old favorite like Jarlsberg. Other customers were bumping into me and having to reach around. I was looking for something special — maybe a goat cheese of some kind.
We’re planning a birthday party — a picnic in the park — for a friend of ours, and we’re hoping it doesn’t rain.
We’re letting sunflowers inspire us, and I’m composing a charcuterie board for the first time — not that I haven’t put out goodies on a breadboard before, but this “presentation” I found on Pinterest — the spot for creative soul food.
The idea features all kinds of cheese, crackers, veggies, and fruits in the shape of a tree. I bought a whole bag of kale (which I’ll never eat) to intersperse between other edibles so that it looks like foliage.
While we were stopped at a light on one of Wichita’s busy streets, I watched two lanes of traffic navigating left turns in perfect synchronicity.
We were first in line in the through lane and sitting there, watching the speed with which cars were coming at each other head-on. It was a rather awe-inspiring experience.
You could have sworn they’d crash, but then they were both turning, like dancers, where everyone knows the routine.
“Isn’t it amazing to think of all the traffic rules we’ve amassed through the years driving cars,” I commented to my sister, “and how everything works smoothly, so long as we stay in our own lane?”
The streets were filled with “rule followers” that day. The city could be proud of itself. Only once did I see some pushy stinker, not wanting to wait while someone turned the corner. He darted out into another lane and, lucky for him, the driver of the car he pushed in front of had good brakes and averted smacking into him.
We take these rules for traffic / life pretty much for granted. We trust that the person in the turn lane, coming head-on, promises to turn.
What do we do with the rule breakers? We must say, “No,” like we train a toddler,
No, you can’t do anything you want to do just because you feel like it. You have to consider others.
What mayhem ensues when rules are broken by some person feeling privileged — like Russia crossing Ukraine’s borders, breaking all the rules, whether you are a despot or just the driver of a little white sports car on Ridge Rd.
No, we must say to the bully, whether it’s the kindergarten kid or the king.
Ignoring the rule breaker has never worked. That’s why leaders we elect are so important — whether it’s our local politicians or the ones in our nation’s capital. We need to speak up, insist they uphold the rules of democracy.
It’s another day in the country, and today we are reminded that our words are powerful. Let us be kindly spoken — even in our disagreements — and stand for truth, calling out for compassion, always aware that words once uttered cannot be retrieved. Our words reverberate for eternity.