Ugali, Sea Life, Garden Plans, and Perpetual Amazement

Mindfulness, in part, is accepting what is without wishing it were different. That’s a tall, tall order for most. We are by our nature and through conditioning forever seeking change. The paradox of Buddhist practice is that the most effective way of transformation and the most direct road to peace is to just relax into an open, accepting awareness of what is.

For many years, long before my marriage, I worked to tend the biggest food gardens I could possibly imagine. And every summer, the gardens grew bigger, progressively diverse, and more labor intensive.

Then, last summer, the effects of climate change clobbered Connecticut, and the gardens were hammered with rain and relentless humidity. Mosquitoes multiplied exponentially. Our bare feet sank up to the ankles into soggy soil. Food plants rotted from the tops down and the roots up. And if that wasn't enough, a family of hungry black bears, displaced from their native habitat by human encroachment, wiped out our corn crop overnight.

By September, I’d decided that the game was on and I would spend winter figuring out how to design the summer 2019 food gardens so we wouldn’t have to go through that again. I was fired up and angry about the losses we took.

But an interesting shift has happened since then. It’s such a profound change for me that it feels scary. It feels scary, but I’m running with it. The Buddha taught that the most powerful way of transformation is to let everything be just what it is. We must awaken from the illusion of control.

I spend months each winter planning the content and design of our food gardens, and a decision has been made about 2019: we are going to downsize, grow less, reduce diversity, and grow only what we regularly eat.

My husband and I had to sit and write down the summer crops that we reliably go to, day after day, every summer - the ones that we don’t want to go without. These crops and only these crops.

The list was surprisingly short. We (especially I) eat a lot of garden greens – especially lettuces, kale, and arugula. We eat and cook with garden tomatoes all the time and add cucumbers to everything. Green beans are the raw summer snack food that I love. Italian basil and Thai basil are in constant use. And my husband likes yellow summer squash.

That’s it. The blesséd, carefree perennials – chives, Italian parsley, sage, lavender, lemon balm, thyme – come back each summer of their accord. The apple and peach trees do their thing without our interference.

For years, I’ve been growing potatoes, eggplant, melons, three varieties of beans, chard, and peppers and giving most of it away to friends, neighbors, and our local food bank. But it was the daily go-to’s like greens and tomatoes that largely fed us.

So, with that, we’ve decided on the summer gardens. A big, big part of the decision was the purchase of our new boat, a 28-foot vessel with kitchen, bathroom, shower, and sleeping quarters that we plan to spend lots of time on this summer.

Together, my husband and I have grown to love the ocean and the amazing, beautiful places a comfortable boat can take us. We found a slip in gorgeous Mystic, Connecticut, a true beach community with all the wonderful history and seaside culture of boating, sailing, art, music, festivals, renewal, and reflection.

We’ve become enamored with sea life, always thrilled to spot a pod of dolphins or a giant sea turtle off the side of the boat. We love the spirit of the quirky, slightly eccentric people who live by and on the water. Seaside food joints and restaurants are the best, and the absence of chain retail stores and strip malls is an unqualified relief.

As a plant geek, I revel in the mounds of beach roses, toad lilies, hibiscus, hydrangea, red sand verbena, saw palmetto, maiden grasses, beach grasses, sea rocket, and August wild sweet peas. I love walking by beach gardens overflowing with Mexican heather, allium, Scottish broom, seashore mallow, purple heart, poppies, ice plants, and wallflowers.

To put it mildly, we’ve both fallen completely in love with the waterfront and the beautiful rituals of boating. And for that reason, I’ve decided to shift my intense focus from our inland food gardens to the shoreline, the ocean, and our lives on the boat.

Yesterday, I placed the annual seed order. This year’s food seeds order came to $32, a far cry from the more than $100 investment we make each year. As we always do, we’ll buy tomatoes and cucumbers as seedlings. This is the 2019 seed order:

·       ‘Bobis a Grano’ Nero green beans

·       Hybrid Gold Rush squash

·       ‘Bionda Ortolani’ lettuce

·       ‘Bionda Ricciolina’ lettuce

·       ‘Cavolo Nero (Lacinato)’ kale

·       ‘Rucul’ arugula

·       Thai ‘Siam’ basil

·       Basil ‘Italiano’

And that’s it. Will I end up planting a few scant watermelon seeds? Probably. Watermelon is the soul of summer. But other than that departure, our food gardens will be smaller, simply structured, easier to maintain, and used more heavily by our family than in years before.

But it’s January now, life is being lived indoors, and on the home front, I’ve become keen on Kenyan cooking and have been making vegan Kenyan dishes like ugali, githeri, and sukuma wiki – all are bean, corn, and tomato-based. My husband loves irio, a Kenyan dish of mashed corn, potatoes, and peas. I eat rice constantly, and pulao – an aromatic rice pilaf – is my second favorite after ugali. This weekend, I’m making boga boga – spicy greens - for the first time.

Today is January 9, and winter has hardly arrived. There has been little snow, and today the temperatures are in the 40s. Climate change is real. And while I love this kind of winter weather, I don’t love the reasons behind it.

Still, we’re closing in on spring. A couple of more months, and the worm will start to gently turn. Underground rhizomes will stir. Hibernating insects will awaken. Songbirds will find their mates and build their nurseries. Trees will stretch and bud. Peepers will begin peeping. We’ll hear icicles dropping from gutters and roofs and crashing on the ground below. The heady smell of loam, rain, grass, and ozone will make us all drunk with gratitude.

There’s nothing in literature or music, art or science as ravishing and praiseworthy as the advent of spring. And then on toward a summer on the water. For all this, I’m grateful. I’m eternally grateful.

Barbie xo