It's been a while since I've written, or even thought much, about "seasonality" - the lightbulb revelation that first led me to put pen to paper. However, when I was trimming all the spent blooms from my two lavender plants the other day, it kinda punched me in the gut.
I was feeling really sad, for I got so caught up in other things this summer (like reunions, and people moving then being laid off) that I never got around to doing anything with the blooms, and now it was too late. Then I found myself thinking "But just you wait! Next year I will be better prepared, and there will be lavender lemonade, lavender creme brule, and lavender buds dried and stored for baking!" The anticipation of it all had me feeling downright giddy, and that's when it came to me. This is what seasonality is all about - enjoying these tiny things for all they are worth, during the brief period when they are at their peak, then giving ourselves up to the ever-mounting thrill of anticipation for the rest of the year. This is the spice that makes living the good life so delectable.
Have you ever known a kid who gets fixated on a single food, and that's all they ever want to eat, for months on end? Then suddenly, out of the blue, they decide they don't like it anymore? I think we are all a bit like that when we can have anything we want, anytime we want it. After a while, none of it seems to taste especially good anymore.
Now picture the child who has been raised with seasonality: the child who crawled around in the strawberry patch as a toddler, popping ripe fruit into mouth with chubby hands; who knows that when Mom announces that the lavender is about to bloom, that means icy pitchers filled with yummy lemonade; who knows that when the fruit on that tree in the yard turns a certain color, that means peach cobbler for dessert, and the whir of the ice cream freezer; whose family dances around the kitchen in glee when a neighbor calls to report a sighting of morel mushrooms. Do you think this child will be a picky eater, bored with everything his mother sets in front of him? Would not this ability to savor such small things when they are available, and enjoy the thrill of anticipation and delayed gratification, spill over into other areas of their life as well?
All I can tell you for sure is that the moment captured in the photo above? The one when I had just discovered my very first morel mushroom? Well, there is only one way to describe the way it made me feel. Or. Gas. Mic!
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6 comments:
Great post, Becky. I agree with you that if we could lose the mindset of having everything all of the time we would be able to live simpler lives and find more moments of or.gas.mic joy!
Beautifully written Becky. It evoked so many wonderful memories for me and not until I started writing them down did I realize that the weeks of summer have their own special flavors and anticipatory pleasures.
Junes in East Texas at my grandparents were full of vine-ripe tomatoes and fresh-caught crispy fried fish from Lake Sam Rayburn. By July the cantaloupes were ripe and eaten at every meal. The purple hulls and cream peas were ready for shelling, cooking with bacon and then eating by the bowlsful with fresh-baked cornbread slathered in butter with homemade chow-chow relish on the side. There were peanuts to dig up and boil in the big kettle of salted water and munch on while watching Lawrence Welk on Saturday night.
In August the fig trees were laden and we'd gorge on the sticky sweet globes till almost sick. On those dog days in late summer an afternoon Coke float sure slipped down good while we sat out on the tall pine-shaded patio and played jacks and pickup sticks and dominos.
Ahhhhh, seasonality. You coined a wonderful wonderful word!
Oh my goodness,M.E., you've got me absolutely starving! My grandmother was definitely a city girl, and I never knew her to do any kind of gardening, but there was a big old fig tree in her back yard, and she love, love, loved watching Lawrence Welk!
Lovely post. THE best meal I EVER ate in my life was in a friend's yard outside of Santa Fe. He had been mushroom picking all day. We sat in the yard and ate lightly sauteed mushrooms (some in butter, some in oil) and drank wine. That's it. My god that was heaven. Congratulations!
I also LOVE what musingegret said. I'm from East Texas too.
So where in East Texas do you girls hail from? I've got relatives from Bogota, which is in the general area of Clarksville and Paris. They were the ones just here for the reunion, and are the only ones anywhere in my family that have ever grown or raised any of their own food, as far as I know. Well, at least until now. I'm hoping to change all that!
My paternal grandparents lived in Center which is about 60 miles west of Shreveport in deep East Texas. We lived in Houston but would visit every 4-6 weeks during the summers.
My granddad raised about a one-acre (or more) garden each year and would take his extra produce into town to the Brooks Bros grocery store so it wouldn't go to waste. My grandma had a big chest deepfreeze in a room right off the kitchen that was full of corn, peas, okra and frozen freshwater fish. If you freeze fish filets that have been cleaned and put up right after you catch 'em they'll taste just as fresh and mild when thawed. Layer them into half-gallon wax milk cartons (3/4 full, fill with water and freeze.) Good 'ol country eats!
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