Wild

I celebrated Mother's Day by honoring the original matriarch. Her majestic glory was fully on display at our lake property in Forestburgh (that's here and here). Four of us took turns rowing across in the canoe to reach the waterfall on the other side. Engorged with the recent rains, it was noisy and boisterous, cascading down from the heights, splashing and spraying with refreshing vigor. The woods are just beginning to leaf out and the greens are so tender and vivid. Near the waterfall, the moss and ferns are impossibly lush and the trillium and jack-in-the-pulpit proliferate. A handful of pristine and velvety wood ear mushrooms were discovered growing on a downed tree trunk. We clambered up a very steep and rocky hill and found the top of the falls—a vertiginous drop with a very promising pool for summer dips.
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I have a confession: I've never found a ramp in the wild. Embarrassing but true. Over the years, my foraging has turned up many prized mushrooms and choice plants, but the wild leek has remained elusive (as has the much-coveted morel). I am determined that this will be the year. In future, though, I won't have to leave it to chance. Because my crafty husband planted masses of Allium tricoccum in a shady cornder of our garden! The first patch, planted last year, came up successfully, so we planted another one last week. You're supposed to leave them mostly undisturbed for several years, allowing them to get established and really proliferate. But I've already taken a single leaf here or there. I've also bought ramps at the farmers market, where ramp frenzy is in full swing. Quite a few vendors are now selling only the leaves, because ramps have been over-harvested in many areas due to unsustainable practices. The trick is to leave at least as many bulbs behind as you take.
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We awoke to a light dusting of snow yesterday, like the last faint, frosty gasp of winter exhaled over the awakening landscape. The snowdrops— always the first sign of spring, along with the red-winged blackbirds—have come up under the river birch. The perennials are stirring and we've begun to plot this year's garden narrative: eggplant here, squash there, less shiso, more chervil, perhaps one more raised bed...The blood quickens, strange dreams visit us in the night and our skin itches with the change of season. To ease myself through this transition, I signed up for a share from Portland Apothecary's Spring CSH (Community Supported Herbalism). A big box was awaiting me upon my return from vacation, full of medicinal tinctures and elixirs to help me "move through the seasons with health and awareness." Everything is lovingly handcrafted by Portland-based herbalists Elie Barausky and Kristen Dilley, and the products are accompanied by thorough and beautifully written instructions and recipes. I can't wait to see what they have planned for summer!
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Just back from Antigua (also known as Wadadli), the main island of the country of Antigua and Barbuda in the Leeward Islands of the Caribbean, where I enjoyed the annual family vacation, courtesy of my very generous in-laws. The island was spotted by Christopher Columbus on his second voyage in 1493. The land and native people were ultimately colonized by Europeans. Some historians believe that the psychological stress of slavery may have played a part in the massive number of native deaths. Others hold that the enforced starchy, low-protein diet contributed to severe malnutrition of the indigenous residents who had been accustomed to a diet fortified with protein from sealife. Now largely dependent on tourism, Antigua is a stark, poverty-riddled landscape peppered with luxury resorts. The beaches are undeniably beautiful, with crystalline turquoise waters and white sand the texture of cake flour. I'm not into tanning, but I can lie on the beach in a shady spot and read to my heart's content. And I'm always interested in the local flora and fauna. On those fronts, Antigua did not disappoint.
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Last year I had the great pleasure of working with a supremely talented illustrator, Sasha Prood (represented by my dear friend Stephanie Pesakoff at Illustration Division), who created a custom alphabet and set of numbers for Glutton for Life. When I had the blog redesigned last spring, we included the new alphabet in the "About" section under Glutton A-Z, but that's a bit of a secret so I thought I'd share a few of the illustrations here. I'm featuring the ones most reminiscent of spring, now that the days are getting longer and the earth is waking up. I'm considering screening some of these beautiful drawings on linen kitchen towels and/or burlap tote bags, so do let me know which ones you like best. At the bottom is the full collection, including numbers. Note there are two Ts (so there would be no redundancy in spelling out "glutton") and two Us, because some people were confused by the stack of bowls.
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Hope is the thing with feathers
by Emily Dickinson

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,

And sings the tune without the words,


And never stops—at all,



 

And sweetest—in the Gale—is heard,


And sore must be the storm


That could abash the little bird


That kept so many warm,



 

I've heard it in the chillest land—


And on the strangest sea;


Yet, never, in extremity,


It asked a crumb—of me.

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Wild Geese
by Mary Oliver

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
For a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting --
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.
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One thing I love about living closer to nature is how attuned I have become to the seasons. Although fall is still my favorite— for its surge of energy, its bittersweet luminosity—I have developed a much deeper appreciation of each one's particular qualities. The light, the air, the plants and the animals all telegraph the changes and make me so accutely aware of the cycle of life. In nature, death is not hidden away. Decay, rot, disease, skeletons—even genocide and homicide—are all around. These signs of death can sometimes be chilling, but also poignant and beautiful. You come across "scenes," learn to piece together clues and decipher narratives. On the rickety porch of an abandoned cottage nearby (I stop by there often to check out the old apple tree, the twining vines of wisteria and wild grape, the rampant patches of day lilies and iris), I found this tattered bird's nest. Inside were the dessicated skeletons of two baby birds. They reminded me of Heckle and Jeckle and I took them home, adding them to my collection of deer vertebrae, dead bugs and found feathers.
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Not much of a post today (rushing into the city), but just wanted to let you know that the blog, and my recent post on Cape Cod, are featured today on Gardenista, the new garden-centric sister to the wonderful design/lifestyle site, Remodelista. I'm really thrilled about this and hope it may lead to other collaborations. Please stop by for a visit and leave a comment there so I can feel popular. Have a lovely weekend!
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Did you know that nasturtium means "nose-tweaker"? This lovely massing plant produces a rather sharp oil, similar to that of watercress. Tropaleoum, as it's formally known, has showy, brightly-colored flowers and proliferates wildly all summer long in even the most neglected gardens. It's an edible plant, and the flowers are often tossed into salads where they impart a pleasantly peppery bite. The unripe seed pods—which can best be observed by picking up the massing plant and examining its underside—have a rather more intense flavor, almost like horseradish. They can be pickled in a simple brine and used as you would capers, or any spicy pickle. This means they pair well with cheese, or can successfully be tossed into anything eggy or creamy.
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