Saturday, December 1, 2012
Cease Sprouting
Had to abort the sprouting mission. Did this project backwards and I did some more reading after I had already started the project. Sounds like it's best to get seeds specifically for sprouting; they've been cleaned and are pathogen-free. I'm sure mine would have probably been fine, but didn't want to risk it. Now in search of sprouting seeds. Signing off. Over.
Thursday, November 29, 2012
Sprouting Sprouts
I'm actually surprised with myself that I got this up and running pretty quickly. I know it doesn't seem like an involved project and it really isn't, but even the easiest tasks can seem daunting when obscured by the thick shadows of protracted darkness. The "hardest" part was cleaning out the durn peanut butter jar! Now that everything's set up all that's left to do is wait. Here's a mini photo-doc of the process:
1. Gather a clean glass jar, cheesecloth (unbleached), rubberband (or gumband for all the Yinzers out there), and a handful of seeds of your choice (I used quinoa to start. If this works, I'll try sprouting the leftover garlic chive seeds from my "real" growing project.).
2. Soak seeds in water overnight.
3. Drain seeds and transfer to jar. Cover with cheesecloth, securing with the rubberband.
4. Flip jar over and place on saucer dish to catch any excess moisture.
1. Gather a clean glass jar, cheesecloth (unbleached), rubberband (or gumband for all the Yinzers out there), and a handful of seeds of your choice (I used quinoa to start. If this works, I'll try sprouting the leftover garlic chive seeds from my "real" growing project.).
3. Drain seeds and transfer to jar. Cover with cheesecloth, securing with the rubberband.
4. Flip jar over and place on saucer dish to catch any excess moisture.
5. Place on windowsill with makeshift cornucopia.
P.S. For optimal results, it says to rinse the seeds a few times a day.
Sunday, November 18, 2012
The Hibernation Situation
I want to try another experiment that may not turn out the way I want it to; but that's the point of experimenting: you try things for the simple sake of trying something new, and whether or not you get a desired result is just the parsley garnish on top. ;) Having another go at the herbs is out of the question now that we are want of sunlight. Without adequate sunlight, the seeds won't sprout; and I'm not quite at the point of wanting to set up an indoor lighting arrangement. Waiting until next Spring to start trying to grow again seems awfully far away. Isn't there something I can do in the meantime?
The answer is YES. Quite fortuitously I stumbled upon this perfect winter indoor growing project. They aren't herbs, but that's okay: it's something fresh, alive, and green to help add some color to the monotonous grey that always settles in around this time of year. I just hope it works! I'd love to have a variety of fresh sprouts on hand to throw in salads, sandwiches, and other dishes. Not only will they be delicious, but I think it will help me fend off that hibernation-induced urge to adopt an habitual consumption of comfort foods (i.e. eating mac and cheese every other night!).
I always have lentils and quinoa lying around the pantry so I think I'll start the sprouting experiment with them; convenience and curiosity about the taste of their sprouts make them an excellent and irresistible starting point. Verily I look forward to expanding my sprout repertoire beyond the usual alfalfa, mung, pea, and broccoli. ;) I'll be sure to let you know how it turns out!
Amazing how I feel the desire to hibernate abating already...
Sunday, July 29, 2012
OregaNOooo!
Behold the tragic sight of diseased oregano:
So very sad! This little guy didn't last long at all. It is possible that since it was originally an outdoor plant and had more of a living soil as its substrate that it picked up the disease before it was passed on to me, but not likely. A quick search on diseases of oregano plants revealed that the most common diseases are fungal, resulting from improperly drained soil and just general moist conditions. For those of you on the East coast of the U.S., you can attest that the past couple of weeks have been disgustingly humid. And even though we have a small window AC unit that does substantially combat some of the funkiness, it is really no match for air heavily gravid with the clam (aka humidity).
And so I find myself back at the drawing board once again, an eerie parallel to where I feel I am at in the progression of my life. Is this project a consciously-aware entity that is purposefully mimicking my life? Ah! However (un)likely that is, it does give rise to some serious introspection, of which I'll reserve for the blog I keep in my brain. ;)
Of immediate relevance: What to do next with this project? I think moving it outdoors would be best, but timing doesn't look like it will be right for that this year. With an upcoming trip that will have me gone most of August, if I were to start some seedlings indoors when I got back, they wouldn't even sprout until early September, and then... well, you can see where this is going: running out of summer! Hence, this may conclude any active attempts to cultivate my own plants until the Spring. I'll keep adopting plants from my chiropractor (since she has a surplus anyway) to use up quickly in cooking, but as far as growing my own, it looks like that seed has blown away (ship has sailed?... I tried...).
Yes, indeed I did try.
So very sad! This little guy didn't last long at all. It is possible that since it was originally an outdoor plant and had more of a living soil as its substrate that it picked up the disease before it was passed on to me, but not likely. A quick search on diseases of oregano plants revealed that the most common diseases are fungal, resulting from improperly drained soil and just general moist conditions. For those of you on the East coast of the U.S., you can attest that the past couple of weeks have been disgustingly humid. And even though we have a small window AC unit that does substantially combat some of the funkiness, it is really no match for air heavily gravid with the clam (aka humidity).
And so I find myself back at the drawing board once again, an eerie parallel to where I feel I am at in the progression of my life. Is this project a consciously-aware entity that is purposefully mimicking my life? Ah! However (un)likely that is, it does give rise to some serious introspection, of which I'll reserve for the blog I keep in my brain. ;)
Of immediate relevance: What to do next with this project? I think moving it outdoors would be best, but timing doesn't look like it will be right for that this year. With an upcoming trip that will have me gone most of August, if I were to start some seedlings indoors when I got back, they wouldn't even sprout until early September, and then... well, you can see where this is going: running out of summer! Hence, this may conclude any active attempts to cultivate my own plants until the Spring. I'll keep adopting plants from my chiropractor (since she has a surplus anyway) to use up quickly in cooking, but as far as growing my own, it looks like that seed has blown away (ship has sailed?... I tried...).
Yes, indeed I did try.
Monday, July 16, 2012
CSA Sunday: Photo Appendix
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| You've been licked by Dragon Tongue beans! |
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| And that's only half the beans and half the potatoes |
Sunday, July 15, 2012
CSA Sunday
The CSA bounty is amazing! Collard greens, new potatoes, summer squash, cucumber, Anaheim peppers, and Dragon Tongue beans. Plenty of variety and a very generous amount for a small share. Looking at this fresh, edible, vivid rainbow in my bag, I couldn't help but feel cheerful and energized (or maybe I was just feeling the effects of the coffee that I downed on a relatively empty stomach. ;) ).
I already ate almost half of the cucumber as a side with my sandwich this afternoon, and plan on making a potato salad with the potatoes. Once I finish up a quinoa salad that's serving as my dinner, I plan on experimenting with the collard greens, squash, and Dragon Tongue beans. I'm thinking I might just toss them all together in a pan and sautee them with garlic, olive oil, and the oregano as a side dish to to go with some poached chicken breasts or try my hand at making some pan-fried chicken under the guidance of this recipe, and thus incorporating the oregano this way rather than in with the veggies. Not quite sure what I'll do with the Anaheim peppers, but I'm sure I can find some recipe to try.
Short and sweet post today. I was just so excited about this first CSA share that I had to... well... share! =)
I already ate almost half of the cucumber as a side with my sandwich this afternoon, and plan on making a potato salad with the potatoes. Once I finish up a quinoa salad that's serving as my dinner, I plan on experimenting with the collard greens, squash, and Dragon Tongue beans. I'm thinking I might just toss them all together in a pan and sautee them with garlic, olive oil, and the oregano as a side dish to to go with some poached chicken breasts or try my hand at making some pan-fried chicken under the guidance of this recipe, and thus incorporating the oregano this way rather than in with the veggies. Not quite sure what I'll do with the Anaheim peppers, but I'm sure I can find some recipe to try.
Short and sweet post today. I was just so excited about this first CSA share that I had to... well... share! =)
Wednesday, July 11, 2012
Putting the Oregano to Work and Other Kitchen Happenings
One of my favorite things to do is challenge myself to use the remaining ingredients used in a planned dish to create an impromptu, unscripted dish. I do this for various reasons: creative exercise, preventing waste, and uncontrollable frugality (which I swear is a genetic trait I inherited from my mother). Sometimes it works, and sometimes it doesn't. Monday night it worked quite deliciously, and I got to use my fresh oregano sooner than I thought I would (waiting on those veggies from the CSA). It was just a simple, summer pasta salad made with leftover, precooked pasta from a bolognese dinner, but it totally hit the spot, a quick, fresh meal to end a long day. Since the pasta was already cooked, all I had to do was chop up a (complimentary) tomato, pluck a handful of oregano leaves off the peduncle, slice them into thin strips, and toss the tomato and oregano in the pasta with olive oil, salt, and pepper. Easy, herb-inspired yums!
I also like substitutes for "traditional" ingredients, and while this isn't herb-related, I'm going to share anyway (because it has potential to be herb-related). This revelation emerged from a culinary situation that was equal parts misfortune and serendipity. Tuna salad is my lunch this week, and as I began to gather the various ingredients (mayo, olive oil) and available accoutrements (onion, celery, salt, pepper), I found that two of the items had gone bad: the celery and the mayo. Celery is an inconsequential ingredient, but something like mayo is pretty important, even though I use it sparingly (that's what the olive oil is for, to add moisture). Son of an orangutan's aunt, I thought to myself. I had just come from the grocery store and really didn't feel like going back out, but I was counting on the tuna for lunch! What to do, what to do? I scanned the fridge, and hidden under containers of hummus and parmasen cheese, I found some idling goat cheese. Voila! Yes! With its creamy consistency and tangy flavor, goat cheese could work as a viable mayo substitute--in concert with the olive oil--and perhaps be even better. I dumped the remainder of the goat cheese in with the tuna and onion, added olive oil, sprinkled in a dash of salt and fresh ground pepper, and mixed up my experiment. Results: total yum! Indeed, I like this version of tuna salad way better than a mayo-based version; it's more flavorful, and the mayo ick-factor is completely eliminated. I'm eager to try it again and experiment with adding some fresh herbs (see, told you I'd tie in herbs some how!). I love how something potentially inconveniencing ended up in a new discovery that improved upon my existing tuna salad paradigm. It's the little things! =)
I also like substitutes for "traditional" ingredients, and while this isn't herb-related, I'm going to share anyway (because it has potential to be herb-related). This revelation emerged from a culinary situation that was equal parts misfortune and serendipity. Tuna salad is my lunch this week, and as I began to gather the various ingredients (mayo, olive oil) and available accoutrements (onion, celery, salt, pepper), I found that two of the items had gone bad: the celery and the mayo. Celery is an inconsequential ingredient, but something like mayo is pretty important, even though I use it sparingly (that's what the olive oil is for, to add moisture). Son of an orangutan's aunt, I thought to myself. I had just come from the grocery store and really didn't feel like going back out, but I was counting on the tuna for lunch! What to do, what to do? I scanned the fridge, and hidden under containers of hummus and parmasen cheese, I found some idling goat cheese. Voila! Yes! With its creamy consistency and tangy flavor, goat cheese could work as a viable mayo substitute--in concert with the olive oil--and perhaps be even better. I dumped the remainder of the goat cheese in with the tuna and onion, added olive oil, sprinkled in a dash of salt and fresh ground pepper, and mixed up my experiment. Results: total yum! Indeed, I like this version of tuna salad way better than a mayo-based version; it's more flavorful, and the mayo ick-factor is completely eliminated. I'm eager to try it again and experiment with adding some fresh herbs (see, told you I'd tie in herbs some how!). I love how something potentially inconveniencing ended up in a new discovery that improved upon my existing tuna salad paradigm. It's the little things! =)
Monday, July 9, 2012
Oh, Oregeno!
The oregeno is here! I set right to re-potting it into something more comfortable and roomy (actual pot courtesy my mama):
Looking good, right? I hope to keep it that way. I was super excited yesterday because I thought it was my first pick-up day for the CSA I joined recently, and I couldn't wait to find a recipe that incorporated the veggies in my share and my newly-acquired oregano. But alas, I got my days mixed up and when I went to the pick-up site, there were no fresh fruits and veggies awaiting me. Total bummer of my own scatterbrained doing! No worries though: something to look forward to for next Sunday.
Tuesday, July 3, 2012
What's Your Inflorescence Type?
I've been doing some more botany-focused reading on herbs, and in doing so, have learned a little bit about the botanical terms for the anatomical structures of a plant. Of particular relevance is the inflorescence, or simply the cluster of flowers on the plant. Inflorescences are categorized according to their arrangement off the main stem (peduncle). The image below illustrates a few of the more common inflorescences.
Even with only a very superficial investigation of inflorescences, it became evident to me that these nine common categories barely scratch the surface of all the different variations of inflorescence arrangements that exist in the natural world. Additionally, some species of plants present with anomalous inflorescence formation, which do not quite fit into the existing categories, and, consequently, are erroneously categorized as one or the other simply for sake of putting them somewhere.
I can't help but see a parallel between this sort of plant classification and classification of human personality (and perhaps even psyche). Perhaps we may fall into general, broad-sweeping categories, but there will always be that about us which remains impervious to the reducible effects of categorizing behavior.
All seriousness aside, let's have some fun with this. I'm sure most of you are familiar with personality typing based on things like color preference, etc., so let's see what your inflorescence preference says about you. Take a good look at the image above and choose an inflorescence that you like best (excluding the compound umbel). Then find the corresponding inflorescence below and discover things about yourself that you never knew. No cheating!
Spike: You are a contrary sort and depending on your mood, this can either work to your benefit and manifest as courage and assertiveness in your dealings with others; or backfire and come across as just plain cantankerousness and therefore repellent to those you encounter.
Raceme: Dynamism defines you. You have a synergistic, lively balance between your creative side and your computational side. There is a strong possibility that you might be perfect.
Panicle: You are eccentric, in taste, style, and mood. To keep up with your varied interests, you always have a lot going on, and it's never the same thing twice. You are prone to abusing substances.
Umbel: Logic and order is the name of your game. You pride yourself on your organizational skills and responsible nature. You readily see patterns in nature, work, and play, and love categorizing any and all material things. This is your favorite post of the entire blog.
Corymb: You are easy-going and level-headed. Nothing seems to ruffle your feathers--er--leaves. You take the ebbs and flows of life in stride, a veritable surfer of the cosmos. Sometimes your carefree disposition leaves you lounging on the beach for too long though.
Cyme: Ambition drives you in most activities. You don't feel satisfied unless you have put in a long, hard-day's work and see results from the work that you've done. Relaxing is not your strong suit. Having a stiff drink from time to time would do you some good.
Cluster: You are plain.
Solitary: Ever so elegant you are. You carry yourself in a sophisticated manner and are privy of all the trends in fashion, music, and food, of which you ravenously indulge. Whether or not you are solitary in your epicurean pursuits is uncertain, but it's quite possible.
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| Image reproduced from Kansas Wildflower and Grasses website: http://www.kswildflower.org/drawings.php?drawingID=5 |
I can't help but see a parallel between this sort of plant classification and classification of human personality (and perhaps even psyche). Perhaps we may fall into general, broad-sweeping categories, but there will always be that about us which remains impervious to the reducible effects of categorizing behavior.
All seriousness aside, let's have some fun with this. I'm sure most of you are familiar with personality typing based on things like color preference, etc., so let's see what your inflorescence preference says about you. Take a good look at the image above and choose an inflorescence that you like best (excluding the compound umbel). Then find the corresponding inflorescence below and discover things about yourself that you never knew. No cheating!
Spike: You are a contrary sort and depending on your mood, this can either work to your benefit and manifest as courage and assertiveness in your dealings with others; or backfire and come across as just plain cantankerousness and therefore repellent to those you encounter.
Raceme: Dynamism defines you. You have a synergistic, lively balance between your creative side and your computational side. There is a strong possibility that you might be perfect.
Panicle: You are eccentric, in taste, style, and mood. To keep up with your varied interests, you always have a lot going on, and it's never the same thing twice. You are prone to abusing substances.
Umbel: Logic and order is the name of your game. You pride yourself on your organizational skills and responsible nature. You readily see patterns in nature, work, and play, and love categorizing any and all material things. This is your favorite post of the entire blog.
Corymb: You are easy-going and level-headed. Nothing seems to ruffle your feathers--er--leaves. You take the ebbs and flows of life in stride, a veritable surfer of the cosmos. Sometimes your carefree disposition leaves you lounging on the beach for too long though.
Cyme: Ambition drives you in most activities. You don't feel satisfied unless you have put in a long, hard-day's work and see results from the work that you've done. Relaxing is not your strong suit. Having a stiff drink from time to time would do you some good.
Cluster: You are plain.
Solitary: Ever so elegant you are. You carry yourself in a sophisticated manner and are privy of all the trends in fashion, music, and food, of which you ravenously indulge. Whether or not you are solitary in your epicurean pursuits is uncertain, but it's quite possible.
Tuesday, June 26, 2012
When Herbs Fall Into Your Lap
My chiropractor is pretty awesome. She keeps my chronic neck pain at bay and keeps a welcoming, friendly practice. She also keeps an organic garden, growing a myriad of vegetables to use for cooking and canning. And she also grows herbs. During one of my sessions, in between her effective yet gentle adjustment of my spinal column, I happened to mention my indoor herb-growing project, and we bonded further over our appreciation for fresh, homegrown produce.
At my session last week, we were both inquiring into each other's growing projects. Sadly, I had to retell the demise of my little seedlings, but we both had a good laugh from the story. It just so happened though that she has a surplus of oregano and dill plants, and kindly offered some to me. Still not feeling quite ready to recommence the project, my thoughts tripped over each other trying to make a quick decision to her benevolent gesture. I'm not really sure if they ever arrived at a firm decision, but I found my mouth saying an autonomous, self-assured 'yes' anyway. I left my session with my spine aligned and the promise of new herbs to jump-start my growing project currently in abeyance.
With this impromptu adoption, I have some preparing to do. I've gone back to consult with my herb books on dill and oregano as well as looking up their profiles on this herb website, and nothing seems too terribly beyond a novice skill level. My chiropractor warned me that dill, unmanaged, can grow freakishly tall. And oregano; well, oregano seems like it might be pretty tame. More importantly than reading up on care, I need to purchase the proper substrate for these plants. I hadn't yet bought any soil for more mature herb plants: all I have on reserve is seedling soil. Actually, stike that. I DO have some soil that I bought for repotting a regular houseplant that had been blown off the sill by a very assertive wind. It's organic soil that was on sale for super cheap at Walgreen's and while it's just fine for a plant I don't plan on ingesting, I'll need to read the label more carefully to see if it's okay to use for crop-type plants. I don't see why it wouldn't be, but you never know. And finally, I need to prepare pots for these newcomers. Again, while I had coffee cans on reserve to use for transplanting once the seedlings were mature, I hadn't yet poked drainage holes in them; this shouldn't be too hard though: just need a good hammer and some nails. But believe it or not, I have neither of these lying around my apartment!
As I'm writing this entry, I feel refreshed and excited about these herbs unexpectedly breezing into my life. I'm particularly excited about cooking with fresh oregano, because I have never done so before. (If anyone has any favorite recipes using fresh oregano, please share!). I feel invigorated by the unending fluidity of this project: I like that what I planned isn't what has happened, and I like that I like it. There is something uniquely liberating about allowing life to present you with its offerings without filtering their merits through a thick, cheesecloth web of thought.
The moral of the story: When herbs fall into your lap, let them. And then worry about how they will grow.
At my session last week, we were both inquiring into each other's growing projects. Sadly, I had to retell the demise of my little seedlings, but we both had a good laugh from the story. It just so happened though that she has a surplus of oregano and dill plants, and kindly offered some to me. Still not feeling quite ready to recommence the project, my thoughts tripped over each other trying to make a quick decision to her benevolent gesture. I'm not really sure if they ever arrived at a firm decision, but I found my mouth saying an autonomous, self-assured 'yes' anyway. I left my session with my spine aligned and the promise of new herbs to jump-start my growing project currently in abeyance.
With this impromptu adoption, I have some preparing to do. I've gone back to consult with my herb books on dill and oregano as well as looking up their profiles on this herb website, and nothing seems too terribly beyond a novice skill level. My chiropractor warned me that dill, unmanaged, can grow freakishly tall. And oregano; well, oregano seems like it might be pretty tame. More importantly than reading up on care, I need to purchase the proper substrate for these plants. I hadn't yet bought any soil for more mature herb plants: all I have on reserve is seedling soil. Actually, stike that. I DO have some soil that I bought for repotting a regular houseplant that had been blown off the sill by a very assertive wind. It's organic soil that was on sale for super cheap at Walgreen's and while it's just fine for a plant I don't plan on ingesting, I'll need to read the label more carefully to see if it's okay to use for crop-type plants. I don't see why it wouldn't be, but you never know. And finally, I need to prepare pots for these newcomers. Again, while I had coffee cans on reserve to use for transplanting once the seedlings were mature, I hadn't yet poked drainage holes in them; this shouldn't be too hard though: just need a good hammer and some nails. But believe it or not, I have neither of these lying around my apartment!
As I'm writing this entry, I feel refreshed and excited about these herbs unexpectedly breezing into my life. I'm particularly excited about cooking with fresh oregano, because I have never done so before. (If anyone has any favorite recipes using fresh oregano, please share!). I feel invigorated by the unending fluidity of this project: I like that what I planned isn't what has happened, and I like that I like it. There is something uniquely liberating about allowing life to present you with its offerings without filtering their merits through a thick, cheesecloth web of thought.
The moral of the story: When herbs fall into your lap, let them. And then worry about how they will grow.
Thursday, June 7, 2012
A is for Apotheke
I've really been missing writing about herbs, whether it be documenting the progress of my own or engaging in herb-inspired philosophical or spiritual musings. As I'm biding my time and waiting to start a new batch of seed after I return from a weekend sojourn in DC, I've been thinking of an herb-related topic to masticate with my mind's molars. And then it struck me: apothekes. Apothekes are akin to drug stores/pharmacies, but with one notable difference: the remedies sold are either homeopathic or herbal.
I know of apothekes from my Grandma, who is Austrian and lived through the Nazi occupation of Austria and WWII. As all grandmas do, she often tells stories of her childhood, reminiscing on times good and bad, and as one can imagine from her experience, the bad is often unbelievably horrid. Fear of the Gestapo coming for her family (her father was a political dissenter), air raids, the bombing of her house, friends killed, and witnessing the atrocities of concentration camps. But among these terrible memories were very fond, pre-occupation/war memories, that still endured despite the dark cloud that descended upon her childhood. And of course, she likes to speak of the good times more than the bad.
One such pleasant memory she likes to talk of is her time spent at her Grandfather's farm in the Austrian countryside during the summers. Here she could enjoy the fresh country air, play outdoors freely with her friends, and relish in unstructured time. But before she left her school in the city for the summer, she and her classmates were given an assignment: each student was presented with a list of herbs that they were to properly identify, collect, and bring back for the apotheke to use in his herbal remedies. When I first heard this story, I thought "What a delightful assignment for a young child!" It gets them outdoors during the summer months, fostering a kinship with their natural environment, and they are exercising and learning in the process (Austria is a very environmentally-conscious country, and I have to wonder if such practices as these served as the foundation for this national ethos). Additionally, it cultivates a cooperative spirit early on as well, with the children engaged in their community by helping out the local apotheke. At the time, I'm sure this calculated reasoning didn't drive the creation and implementation of the assignment, but in a nation plagued by disrespect toward the natural environment, crumbling social capital, and childhood obesity, we can appreciate the ingeniousness of this school- and community-based initiative and perhaps learn from its wisdom.
It is simply this particular story I wanted to share about apothekes. I know very little about apothekes otherwise--either of past or present--but they do still exist and are ubiquitous in Austria: instead of the the McDonald's golden arches, you see the signature stylized, crimson "A" denoting Apothekes. Whether or not schoolkids still collect herbs for the apothekes, I do not know, but they do still sell certain remedies my Grandma would speak of, including wermhut tea and a laxative made of condensed figs. I could kick myself that of all the 900 some pictures I took while is Austria, I didn't take a picture of the Apotheke sign, but I think ending this post with a picture of the country's landscape is more fitting anyway.
I know of apothekes from my Grandma, who is Austrian and lived through the Nazi occupation of Austria and WWII. As all grandmas do, she often tells stories of her childhood, reminiscing on times good and bad, and as one can imagine from her experience, the bad is often unbelievably horrid. Fear of the Gestapo coming for her family (her father was a political dissenter), air raids, the bombing of her house, friends killed, and witnessing the atrocities of concentration camps. But among these terrible memories were very fond, pre-occupation/war memories, that still endured despite the dark cloud that descended upon her childhood. And of course, she likes to speak of the good times more than the bad.
One such pleasant memory she likes to talk of is her time spent at her Grandfather's farm in the Austrian countryside during the summers. Here she could enjoy the fresh country air, play outdoors freely with her friends, and relish in unstructured time. But before she left her school in the city for the summer, she and her classmates were given an assignment: each student was presented with a list of herbs that they were to properly identify, collect, and bring back for the apotheke to use in his herbal remedies. When I first heard this story, I thought "What a delightful assignment for a young child!" It gets them outdoors during the summer months, fostering a kinship with their natural environment, and they are exercising and learning in the process (Austria is a very environmentally-conscious country, and I have to wonder if such practices as these served as the foundation for this national ethos). Additionally, it cultivates a cooperative spirit early on as well, with the children engaged in their community by helping out the local apotheke. At the time, I'm sure this calculated reasoning didn't drive the creation and implementation of the assignment, but in a nation plagued by disrespect toward the natural environment, crumbling social capital, and childhood obesity, we can appreciate the ingeniousness of this school- and community-based initiative and perhaps learn from its wisdom.
It is simply this particular story I wanted to share about apothekes. I know very little about apothekes otherwise--either of past or present--but they do still exist and are ubiquitous in Austria: instead of the the McDonald's golden arches, you see the signature stylized, crimson "A" denoting Apothekes. Whether or not schoolkids still collect herbs for the apothekes, I do not know, but they do still sell certain remedies my Grandma would speak of, including wermhut tea and a laxative made of condensed figs. I could kick myself that of all the 900 some pictures I took while is Austria, I didn't take a picture of the Apotheke sign, but I think ending this post with a picture of the country's landscape is more fitting anyway.
Saturday, May 19, 2012
While I Was Away
I returned from a 2-week vacation to find my plants in an unfortunate state, despite arrangements for them to be looked after while I was gone. Before I left, the mint plant did have some signs of a disease that I think I properly identified as Powdery Mildew, and I had effectively removed the affected parts and restored the plant's health. But upon my return, it looked completely ravaged by it. The seedlings obviously were doing great, with no signs of wilting or any diseases, but sadly, they were pretty much shriveled beyond revival.
Initially I had planned on starting the growing project after I got back from my trip precisely because I was concerned about how they would hold up while I was gone. I'm not exactly sure why I decided to disregard my initial plan, but I think impatience had a large part to do with it. Impatience plus a blind optimism that the plants would undoubtedly (more like magically) endure suboptimal conditions. This was a tough lesson on trusting your instincts and honoring your initial reaction/plans.
Am I devastated? No. Just a little disappointed. I think subconsciously I knew that there was a very strong likelihood that they wouldn't survive my absence, so this shadowed anticipation perhaps helped to soften the blow.
Where will I go from here? I do plan on trying again after regrouping. However, I think I'll refrain from growing mint again, at least while I'm still getting my herb bearings. I knew going into the project that it was an aggressive plant, but it really did explode once I re-potted it, and I feel ill-equipped to keep up with its rapid growth. Additionally, given that it contracted this mildew-related disease, I'm not so sure the environmental conditions in my apartment are suited to growing mint.
In some ways, I view this first round akin to a pilot study. Even in my failure, knowledge and experience was procured which can now be applied to future endeavors. I am indeed looking forward to trying again.
Where will I go from here? I do plan on trying again after regrouping. However, I think I'll refrain from growing mint again, at least while I'm still getting my herb bearings. I knew going into the project that it was an aggressive plant, but it really did explode once I re-potted it, and I feel ill-equipped to keep up with its rapid growth. Additionally, given that it contracted this mildew-related disease, I'm not so sure the environmental conditions in my apartment are suited to growing mint.
In some ways, I view this first round akin to a pilot study. Even in my failure, knowledge and experience was procured which can now be applied to future endeavors. I am indeed looking forward to trying again.
Monday, April 23, 2012
Friday, April 20, 2012
What Remains of Unborn Chives
The chives seed has still not germinated, and at more than 2 weeks past the projected germination date, I thought it safe to assume that it would not be joining the basil and parsley in life as a sprout. Before I got rid of it though, I wanted to inspect the soil to see if there was anything going on underneath the surface. And this is what I found:
Nothing: not the slightest tremor of activity. I wonder what prevented the seed from relinquishing its tightly packed, unyielding pod in exchange for the nimble form of a sprout, a chrysalis opting to remain a chrysalis instead of unfurling into the freedom of a butterfly. I treated it the same as the other two seeds, giving it just the right amount of water and sunlight. Why was this effort not to its liking?
I am curious, but not upset, nor do I feel as if I failed. I find the notion of failure/success in the context of this project has slowly faded away. When I first committed to making this project happen, possible failure was foremost in my mind, especially since I have chosen to share my movement through the project with others. It is one thing to fail privately within the limited scope of the cocoon of one's own self-knowledge and awareness, quite another to fail openly, in the vast and airy expanse of unbounded existence. So perhaps the chives seed was afraid of failure, just as I was (and maybe still am a little bit, but in other venues). Timid in the twisted face of the unknown--existence as a sprout--it nestled closer into the plush, enveloping blanket of soil and bound itself tighter in its compacted sphere of existence, like a fist, clenched so tensely that its fingernails bore into fleshy palm to poke through the back of the hand, fastening a permanent anxiety.
I wish the chives would have inched out of this self-imposed stronghold, but I understand why it didn't. I know I did my best to encourage it to come forth into the world, and I enjoyed tending to it despite its decision to remain encased and comfortably hidden away beneath the soil.
Nothing: not the slightest tremor of activity. I wonder what prevented the seed from relinquishing its tightly packed, unyielding pod in exchange for the nimble form of a sprout, a chrysalis opting to remain a chrysalis instead of unfurling into the freedom of a butterfly. I treated it the same as the other two seeds, giving it just the right amount of water and sunlight. Why was this effort not to its liking?
I am curious, but not upset, nor do I feel as if I failed. I find the notion of failure/success in the context of this project has slowly faded away. When I first committed to making this project happen, possible failure was foremost in my mind, especially since I have chosen to share my movement through the project with others. It is one thing to fail privately within the limited scope of the cocoon of one's own self-knowledge and awareness, quite another to fail openly, in the vast and airy expanse of unbounded existence. So perhaps the chives seed was afraid of failure, just as I was (and maybe still am a little bit, but in other venues). Timid in the twisted face of the unknown--existence as a sprout--it nestled closer into the plush, enveloping blanket of soil and bound itself tighter in its compacted sphere of existence, like a fist, clenched so tensely that its fingernails bore into fleshy palm to poke through the back of the hand, fastening a permanent anxiety.
I wish the chives would have inched out of this self-imposed stronghold, but I understand why it didn't. I know I did my best to encourage it to come forth into the world, and I enjoyed tending to it despite its decision to remain encased and comfortably hidden away beneath the soil.
Wednesday, April 18, 2012
First Meal With my Mint
A couple days ago I made the first actual dish using my own mint since adopting the plant a month ago. I made the asparagus stir-fry, and it was delish. I added a fresh salad with cucumbers and shitake sesame dressing to make the meal a bit more complete, and uber-healthy! Veggies to the max! Here's a couple pics (not the greatest quality, but the best I could do with the poor lighting in the prep corner of the kitchen):
This was my first time taking pictures while cooking. I really enjoyed it and found it had a slowing effect, encouraging full immersion in the preparation rather than speeding through it to get to the actual cooking. It gave me more time to breathe in the sensuous aromas of sliced scallions, chopped garlic, grated ginger, a juiced lime, and slivered mint and basil, enjoying their freshness before the smell of heated sesame oil overpowered the delightful olfactory potpourri to create one looming monoscent. Photographing as I went also allowed me to really appreciate how beautiful all of the ingredients were, especially the red chard! I was in awe of its stunning magenta stalks and rich, dark green leaves. The picture definitely does not do it justice.
Already I notice another positive effect of having my own herbs. In the very first post on this blog, I briefly mentioned how the culinary uses of herbs was one of the reasons for deciding to grow my own. Before when I would cook with herbs, I cooked with them because the recipe called for their use, and oftentimes what I didn't use would sadly go to waste, or I would feel pressured to find a recipe that called for the herb precisely so it wouldn't go to waste. Now the herbs are my muse. By taking this sort of bottom-up approach to searching for new recipes, a more varied and unique list of recipes emerges than if the search had been guided by a main ingredient (i.e. meat vs. no meat) or ethnic variety. I can't wait until my basil and parsley are mature enough to use so that I'll have 3 resident muses instead of just one.
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| The Line-up of Ingredients. Can you spot the mint? |
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| Slivered Basil and Mint |
Already I notice another positive effect of having my own herbs. In the very first post on this blog, I briefly mentioned how the culinary uses of herbs was one of the reasons for deciding to grow my own. Before when I would cook with herbs, I cooked with them because the recipe called for their use, and oftentimes what I didn't use would sadly go to waste, or I would feel pressured to find a recipe that called for the herb precisely so it wouldn't go to waste. Now the herbs are my muse. By taking this sort of bottom-up approach to searching for new recipes, a more varied and unique list of recipes emerges than if the search had been guided by a main ingredient (i.e. meat vs. no meat) or ethnic variety. I can't wait until my basil and parsley are mature enough to use so that I'll have 3 resident muses instead of just one.
Friday, April 13, 2012
On Weeds
"You should rather be grateful for the weeds you have in your mind, because eventually they will enrich your practice." -Shunryu Suzuki from Zen Mind, Beginner's Mind
I came across this quote awhile ago, when I was first starting the herb project and still in the research phase. Reading Eastern philosophical texts was not a part of the research phase for the herbs, but a part of a reinvigorated commitment to spiritual practice (i.e. meditation, yoga, etc.) that has waned to a very thin sliver of a crescent over the years and just so happened to coincide with the herb growing project. Imagine my delight to come across such a poignant quote, relevant to the herb growing project and to my current spiritual state.
Weeds of the mind... In fact, my mind is quite overgrown with weeds in this very moment, making it difficult to write this post. The weeds have been growing for quite some time and somehow, despite various efforts, I have not managed to prune them nor to allow them to "enrich my practice," as Suzuki suggests. Perhaps my failure lies in the fact that I wasn't fully embracing and exploring the weedy thoughts: I didn't like the intolerable feeling of them overrunning my mind and sought to either ignore them or banish them outright. And so they remain, invading every space in my head, wrapping around neurons, tangling neural networks, and creeping into the space between the brain and the skull; very soon they will start inching out of my ears. A radical shift from resistance to acceptance is worth a shot at this point, an effort to salvage some sort of grace in the tumult.
We might find it difficult at first to conceptualize negative thoughts--or "mind weeds"--as potentially beneficial to our personal development and overall well-being. Similar to actual weeds, they are notoriously invasive, encroaching upon what is perceived as beautiful or good. Repulsed by the unsightly, unfamiliar, and uncomfortable nature of mind weeds, we want to quickly be rid of them, preferring the smooth tranquility of a well-manicured mind, much like we relish in the sight of a clean-shaven garden, with no rough weed-stubble to rub against our vision, irritating the aesthetic eye. Many herbs are actually considered weeds and therefore reviled, yet within their leaves is housed enormous potential to heal, restore, and nourish. So too may mind weeds hold promises of restoration and insight. As with herbal medicine and research, it is a matter of experimenting with methods of extraction and application of compounds to arrive at an effective approach to using mind weeds to heal the spirit, rather than allowing them to asphyxiate the spirit. Instead of viewing weeds as nuisances to be eradicated, we might dare to see them as a bountiful crop to be harvested and appreciated, whether they exist in our gardens or in our minds.
It is a tall order, this proposed mind shift. The weeds are so deeply entrenched in toxic substrate that to infuse them with positivity seems a nigh impossible task. To yank them out is the easiest, quickest remedy, but like actual weeds, mind weeds grow back too. And by continuing to view them as an annoyance, every time they grow back, frustration burgeons as well, growing exponentially each time the weeds reemerge until in crescendoed desperation, we frantically pull and tug, yank and rip in a futile attempt to expunge all traces of their existence. After the frenzied flailing has subsided, it is quiet; it is still: but the reprieve is only temporary. Return the weeds shall and to entangle in vengeance, punishment for not heeding the wisdom of their presence. In hopes of evading this wrath and learning something new, I'm going to stop weeding and just be with the weeds for awhile, in mind and in soil.
I came across this quote awhile ago, when I was first starting the herb project and still in the research phase. Reading Eastern philosophical texts was not a part of the research phase for the herbs, but a part of a reinvigorated commitment to spiritual practice (i.e. meditation, yoga, etc.) that has waned to a very thin sliver of a crescent over the years and just so happened to coincide with the herb growing project. Imagine my delight to come across such a poignant quote, relevant to the herb growing project and to my current spiritual state.
Weeds of the mind... In fact, my mind is quite overgrown with weeds in this very moment, making it difficult to write this post. The weeds have been growing for quite some time and somehow, despite various efforts, I have not managed to prune them nor to allow them to "enrich my practice," as Suzuki suggests. Perhaps my failure lies in the fact that I wasn't fully embracing and exploring the weedy thoughts: I didn't like the intolerable feeling of them overrunning my mind and sought to either ignore them or banish them outright. And so they remain, invading every space in my head, wrapping around neurons, tangling neural networks, and creeping into the space between the brain and the skull; very soon they will start inching out of my ears. A radical shift from resistance to acceptance is worth a shot at this point, an effort to salvage some sort of grace in the tumult.
We might find it difficult at first to conceptualize negative thoughts--or "mind weeds"--as potentially beneficial to our personal development and overall well-being. Similar to actual weeds, they are notoriously invasive, encroaching upon what is perceived as beautiful or good. Repulsed by the unsightly, unfamiliar, and uncomfortable nature of mind weeds, we want to quickly be rid of them, preferring the smooth tranquility of a well-manicured mind, much like we relish in the sight of a clean-shaven garden, with no rough weed-stubble to rub against our vision, irritating the aesthetic eye. Many herbs are actually considered weeds and therefore reviled, yet within their leaves is housed enormous potential to heal, restore, and nourish. So too may mind weeds hold promises of restoration and insight. As with herbal medicine and research, it is a matter of experimenting with methods of extraction and application of compounds to arrive at an effective approach to using mind weeds to heal the spirit, rather than allowing them to asphyxiate the spirit. Instead of viewing weeds as nuisances to be eradicated, we might dare to see them as a bountiful crop to be harvested and appreciated, whether they exist in our gardens or in our minds.
It is a tall order, this proposed mind shift. The weeds are so deeply entrenched in toxic substrate that to infuse them with positivity seems a nigh impossible task. To yank them out is the easiest, quickest remedy, but like actual weeds, mind weeds grow back too. And by continuing to view them as an annoyance, every time they grow back, frustration burgeons as well, growing exponentially each time the weeds reemerge until in crescendoed desperation, we frantically pull and tug, yank and rip in a futile attempt to expunge all traces of their existence. After the frenzied flailing has subsided, it is quiet; it is still: but the reprieve is only temporary. Return the weeds shall and to entangle in vengeance, punishment for not heeding the wisdom of their presence. In hopes of evading this wrath and learning something new, I'm going to stop weeding and just be with the weeds for awhile, in mind and in soil.
Tuesday, April 10, 2012
Big-Money Mint
With the mint thriving, I've started looking around for recipes that call for the use of mint: I want to really make good, healthy use of the incredible bounty it's producing. The tallest branch now measures out at a whopping 1 ft in height, and the leaves on all the branches are large, plentiful, vibrant, and aromatic. New leaves are also forming in the areas where harvesting had occurred. The plant is just begging me to use more than a couple leaves here and there to make iced mint green tea, and I think its growing grandeur deserves the honor of being used as an integral ingredient in a main course. A preliminary search online for recipes yielded some intriguing possibilities: baked sole with mint and ginger; Vietnamese spring noodle salad; grilled eggplant and mint dip; and asparagus stir-fry. Anyone have any favorite recipes that use mint? If so, please share!
Admiring the plant as it sits proudly on my small, glass kitchen table, a welcome splash of color on this dreary, doldrums-day, I begin to think of attempting another gardening technique that would be new to me: division. More specifically, division is a form of asexual propagation. The mint plant currently consists of six branches, three of them larger and the other three about half the height of the large ones. The three smaller ones would most likely do better if they were split up from the larger three, with more room to grow and more nutrients in the soil for them to soak up. Of course, along with the benefits of such a procedure, there are risks involved as well. Okay, maybe just one risk: loss of the plant. And since the plant in the present moment is doing so incredibly well, it would certainly be a shame if tinkering with the balance led to the demise of the entire plant. As usual, I've got some thinking to do on how to proceed.
And in other news, still not a peep from the chives seed. I'm doubtful it will pop up at this point, especially given the weather conditions lately. It's been cloudy and rather cool yesterday and today; it's even supposed to snow this evening and tomorrow morning! I know it's indoors, but the lighting factor is still an issue, and if it was on the verge of germinating, its growth might have been arrested by lack of plentiful sunlight and the coolness. Even with the heat on, it's not that warm in here! For the benefit of the mature plant and seedlings alike, I hope the sun comes back soon!
Admiring the plant as it sits proudly on my small, glass kitchen table, a welcome splash of color on this dreary, doldrums-day, I begin to think of attempting another gardening technique that would be new to me: division. More specifically, division is a form of asexual propagation. The mint plant currently consists of six branches, three of them larger and the other three about half the height of the large ones. The three smaller ones would most likely do better if they were split up from the larger three, with more room to grow and more nutrients in the soil for them to soak up. Of course, along with the benefits of such a procedure, there are risks involved as well. Okay, maybe just one risk: loss of the plant. And since the plant in the present moment is doing so incredibly well, it would certainly be a shame if tinkering with the balance led to the demise of the entire plant. As usual, I've got some thinking to do on how to proceed.
And in other news, still not a peep from the chives seed. I'm doubtful it will pop up at this point, especially given the weather conditions lately. It's been cloudy and rather cool yesterday and today; it's even supposed to snow this evening and tomorrow morning! I know it's indoors, but the lighting factor is still an issue, and if it was on the verge of germinating, its growth might have been arrested by lack of plentiful sunlight and the coolness. Even with the heat on, it's not that warm in here! For the benefit of the mature plant and seedlings alike, I hope the sun comes back soon!
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| Mentha During a Storm |
Monday, April 9, 2012
14 Days
It's been 14 days since I sowed the herb seeds. Last night, there was still no sign of any growth from either the parsley or chives seed. But the parsley seed must have done some last-minute growing overnight: when I got up this morning and stumbled over to the sill to check on the seeds, the parsley had sprouted!
This was a pleasant and rather unexpected surprise. I had resigned myself to the fact that I'd only have the basil seedling to boast of from my first sowing attempt. I wasn't as disappointed as I thought I'd be; I think I was just happy that anything sprouted from my first sowing, and if I had to try again with some of the seed, then so be it. Now that I have two seedlings I feel even more pleased and at peace with the outcomes.
The big question now is how far past the 14 days do I give the chives seed to sprout? The seed package said sprouting would occur in 7 - 14 days, so I'm not sure if there is much hope for the chives seed beyond today if it still hasn't sprouted by the end of the day. I think I'll give it a few more days, and if still no signs of life, give it a rest. At this point, I'm not sure when and if I'll sow another round of chives seed. I might just want to concentrate on tending to the basil and parsley seedling, doing what I can to ensure that they develop into mature plants.
Yesterday I was reflecting on this project and how it has been going thus far. One of the things that really strikes me as being so totally different than what I had envisioned is the amount of time and work involved. For some reason, when I first entertained the prospect of growing herbs, I thought it would be a super time- and labor-intensive project, which is something that kind of scared me off, especially since at the time I was in school. I couldn't imagine adding a new project into the mix. But so far the part of the project that has taken the most time has been the research I did before I started the actual sowing and growing. In other words, the project as represented by thought was much more overwhelming than the project as manifested in reality.
With that, I'll end this post with a recent picture of the basil seedling. You can definitely see it now!
This was a pleasant and rather unexpected surprise. I had resigned myself to the fact that I'd only have the basil seedling to boast of from my first sowing attempt. I wasn't as disappointed as I thought I'd be; I think I was just happy that anything sprouted from my first sowing, and if I had to try again with some of the seed, then so be it. Now that I have two seedlings I feel even more pleased and at peace with the outcomes.
The big question now is how far past the 14 days do I give the chives seed to sprout? The seed package said sprouting would occur in 7 - 14 days, so I'm not sure if there is much hope for the chives seed beyond today if it still hasn't sprouted by the end of the day. I think I'll give it a few more days, and if still no signs of life, give it a rest. At this point, I'm not sure when and if I'll sow another round of chives seed. I might just want to concentrate on tending to the basil and parsley seedling, doing what I can to ensure that they develop into mature plants.
Yesterday I was reflecting on this project and how it has been going thus far. One of the things that really strikes me as being so totally different than what I had envisioned is the amount of time and work involved. For some reason, when I first entertained the prospect of growing herbs, I thought it would be a super time- and labor-intensive project, which is something that kind of scared me off, especially since at the time I was in school. I couldn't imagine adding a new project into the mix. But so far the part of the project that has taken the most time has been the research I did before I started the actual sowing and growing. In other words, the project as represented by thought was much more overwhelming than the project as manifested in reality.
With that, I'll end this post with a recent picture of the basil seedling. You can definitely see it now!
Friday, April 6, 2012
Aromatherapeutic Interlude
The earthy, menthol scent of freshly torn mint leaves on my fingertips cools frazzled nerves.
Thursday, April 5, 2012
Musings Inspired by a Basil Seedling
The basil seedling has without a doubt sprouted: it is now noticeably stretched above the soil line. Still no stirring from the parsley and chives container, and I even tried to peek this time. I also tried to take some more pictures, hoping that since the seedling was more pronounced now that my camera might be able to accurately capture what I'm seeing so that I could share with you...
You can sort of see the two nascent leaves that have formed, but these pictures do not do the cute little basil justice. The picture portrays a simplistic light green blob, while what I am seeing is much more dynamic and complex. Amidst a sea of thick brown, a tiny, but bold seedling has asserted its presence. On two miniscule leaves that look like tongues, flecks of soil desperately cling to what once belonged entirely to its subterranean realm. It is almost as if the soil thinks it can persuade--or force--the seedling to submerge itself back into the faux-ground. Ignoring the groping pleas of the soil, the seedling presses on, eager to be equally present in the subterranean and tropospheric domains, fully existing in and of the earth. In a singular determination--and perhaps one I can gain inspiration from--the seedling carries on with its journey despite whispers of distraction, uncertainty, and naysayers.
Through my observation of and subsequent reflection on the silent, yet lively interaction between soil and seedling, I am reminded of Joseph Campbell's Hero's Journey. In the final destination of the journey, the hero has mastered existence in the ordinary (subterranean) and special (tropospheric) worlds. Of course, the seedling still remains a part of the "ordinary" world--indeed quite literally rooted in it--but as it is just beginning to emerge into the troposphere, it will have to learn to live in this "special" world as well. This has human spiritual development implications. The soil is equivalent to our mundane lives, and the troposphere (even though we are very much a part of it) can be conceptualized as equivalent to the spiritual realm. How do we gain a higher level of consciousness and remain grounded? How do we shoot through layers of the mundane without propelling ourselves with such a great force that we uproot ourselves, irrevocably cutting ourselves off from our life source?
You can sort of see the two nascent leaves that have formed, but these pictures do not do the cute little basil justice. The picture portrays a simplistic light green blob, while what I am seeing is much more dynamic and complex. Amidst a sea of thick brown, a tiny, but bold seedling has asserted its presence. On two miniscule leaves that look like tongues, flecks of soil desperately cling to what once belonged entirely to its subterranean realm. It is almost as if the soil thinks it can persuade--or force--the seedling to submerge itself back into the faux-ground. Ignoring the groping pleas of the soil, the seedling presses on, eager to be equally present in the subterranean and tropospheric domains, fully existing in and of the earth. In a singular determination--and perhaps one I can gain inspiration from--the seedling carries on with its journey despite whispers of distraction, uncertainty, and naysayers.
Through my observation of and subsequent reflection on the silent, yet lively interaction between soil and seedling, I am reminded of Joseph Campbell's Hero's Journey. In the final destination of the journey, the hero has mastered existence in the ordinary (subterranean) and special (tropospheric) worlds. Of course, the seedling still remains a part of the "ordinary" world--indeed quite literally rooted in it--but as it is just beginning to emerge into the troposphere, it will have to learn to live in this "special" world as well. This has human spiritual development implications. The soil is equivalent to our mundane lives, and the troposphere (even though we are very much a part of it) can be conceptualized as equivalent to the spiritual realm. How do we gain a higher level of consciousness and remain grounded? How do we shoot through layers of the mundane without propelling ourselves with such a great force that we uproot ourselves, irrevocably cutting ourselves off from our life source?
Tuesday, April 3, 2012
Huzzah!
As I was watering all of the seeds this morning, I lost control while watering the basil seed and more water than needed came rushing out of Jim Beam's neck. This slight watering mishap revealed an exciting development beneath the surface of the soil: a seedling! I didn't notice it earlier because it is right at soil line, or maybe because it did more growing overnight. Either way--even though it does feel like I snooped and ruined the surprise--I'm happy to know that I will at least be getting some results from this first round of seed. I tried to take a picture, but my camera isn't equipped to pick up the fine detail of close-range shots. It's the dot in the middle that looks tinted yellow-green...
...See it?? Probably not. But I thought I'd try to share anyway.
The trick now will be nourishing the little guy in just the right manner so that it continues to grow at a steady rate, eventually developing into a mature plant. There is some temptation to sit back and relax now that I know something is growing, but giving into this temptation will most likely be deadly--to the fragile seedling. Okay, so maybe I'm being a little melodramatic, but that is the reality of the situation, and unless I want to start from scratch, I have to maintain an indefatigable regimen of caring for the tender seedlings.
The trick now will be nourishing the little guy in just the right manner so that it continues to grow at a steady rate, eventually developing into a mature plant. There is some temptation to sit back and relax now that I know something is growing, but giving into this temptation will most likely be deadly--to the fragile seedling. Okay, so maybe I'm being a little melodramatic, but that is the reality of the situation, and unless I want to start from scratch, I have to maintain an indefatigable regimen of caring for the tender seedlings.
Monday, April 2, 2012
(untitled)
Wow! The mint plant is thriving post transplant! It looks super healthy and more robust than it did when I first got it. Conversely, not a popping peep from the seeds that were planted exactly 7 days ago. I know the packages said sprouting would occur 7 - 14 days after planting, but I'm slightly concerned that this first round might be a bust.
Sunday, April 1, 2012
Fresh Soil, Fresh Mind
The mint plant was badly in need of re-potting, which I knew when I first bought it, but I didn't get around to re-potting as soon as I would have liked. Friday afternoon I finally devoted some time to getting the mint plant settled in some fresh soil. Hopefully this pot--which I had forgotten about--will be to its liking.
I set up my little work station and began the process. After removing the mint plant from the plastic container, I found that it was indeed rather root-bound. From the first picture below, you can see the size difference between the container it was in before and the pot it is in now is pretty significant. You can also see from the pictures that it is a relatively messy process, so when re-potting indoors it is essential to have some sort of cover on the floor, not only to contain the mess, but so you can feel free to enjoy the process without having to worry about getting dirt everywhere. I think this is a crucial point and perhaps a potential drawback of growing plants indoors. For many of us, our living space is separate from the outdoors, and because it is removed from the "messy" outdoors, we consider it a "clean" space. When we bring something into our homes that naturally exists outdoors--like a plant--aspects of our dealings with this organism that wouldn't be considered a mess or nuisance outdoors become so indoors. This has the potential to detract from the growing/gardening experience and exacerbate the feeling of separateness from the environment. Speaking for myself, one of the reasons I decided to grow herbs indoors was to mitigate this feeling of isolation from nature, and I'm sure that many other urban dwellers decide to grow plants for the same reason. So while it's important to be cognizant of the mess involved with planting and re-potting, it shouldn't be a main focus of the process, nor should one begrudge the plant when a little soil happens to get on the floor.
No, that's not diluted whisky in the bottle: it's water mixed with plant food. Once I had the mint plant tucked into its soilbed, I decided it might be a good idea to give it a little food. You know, just in case it was a little unsettled by the change and needed to stress eat. ;) I'm a little worried about the plant's reaction to the food since a.) I'm not sure when it was fed last and b.) I didn't have the proper utensils to measure the food out exactly. But as I'm learning very early on in this project, you have to be flexible, be able to deviate from your initial plan, and have a sort of fearless attitude toward experimenting with the unknown (hm, kinda like life, right?).
Way back in my very first post on this blog, I briefly mentioned the therapeutic effects I expected from this project. Friday these effects were noticeable and lasting. In fact, the main reason I chose to re-pot the mint plant Friday afternoon was that I was feeling keyed up and not so good. I thought that maybe if I did some herb work I might feel better, and at the very least, it would help channel some of the negative energy I was feeling into a positive activity rather than indulging in vice. And right I was: I felt calmer immediately, and as I continued working, I felt the rat's nest of thoughts that was forming in my mind untangling, the topography of my consciousness becoming smoother and smoother. All these positive effects just from re-potting one little plant. Quite amazing!
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| An actual pot! |
No, that's not diluted whisky in the bottle: it's water mixed with plant food. Once I had the mint plant tucked into its soilbed, I decided it might be a good idea to give it a little food. You know, just in case it was a little unsettled by the change and needed to stress eat. ;) I'm a little worried about the plant's reaction to the food since a.) I'm not sure when it was fed last and b.) I didn't have the proper utensils to measure the food out exactly. But as I'm learning very early on in this project, you have to be flexible, be able to deviate from your initial plan, and have a sort of fearless attitude toward experimenting with the unknown (hm, kinda like life, right?).
Way back in my very first post on this blog, I briefly mentioned the therapeutic effects I expected from this project. Friday these effects were noticeable and lasting. In fact, the main reason I chose to re-pot the mint plant Friday afternoon was that I was feeling keyed up and not so good. I thought that maybe if I did some herb work I might feel better, and at the very least, it would help channel some of the negative energy I was feeling into a positive activity rather than indulging in vice. And right I was: I felt calmer immediately, and as I continued working, I felt the rat's nest of thoughts that was forming in my mind untangling, the topography of my consciousness becoming smoother and smoother. All these positive effects just from re-potting one little plant. Quite amazing!
Thursday, March 29, 2012
Room of Light
I got a little carried away with capturing the flood of sunlight that fills the apartment to the brim in the afternoon. It gets so intense that I usually close the curtains, but now that I have a photosynthesizing little friend perched on the sill, I can't close the curtains all the way. You'll see that I closed them enough to keep some of the light out while still allowing the mint plant to bask its bad self in the glow.
The last picture is my favorite. The sun-etched silhouette of the lurking spire in the background and the appearance of translucency at its pinnacle evoke feelings of liminality and seem to question the very nature of reality. While the form of this large, imposing structure is demoted to shadow, the small mint plant retains its form and appears more solid and formidable than an object 1,000 (10,000?; 100,000?) times its size and made of sturdy materials such as wood, stone, and mortar. The mint plant seems almost unaware of its challenging stance in the face of this otherwise monolithic presence.
The last picture is my favorite. The sun-etched silhouette of the lurking spire in the background and the appearance of translucency at its pinnacle evoke feelings of liminality and seem to question the very nature of reality. While the form of this large, imposing structure is demoted to shadow, the small mint plant retains its form and appears more solid and formidable than an object 1,000 (10,000?; 100,000?) times its size and made of sturdy materials such as wood, stone, and mortar. The mint plant seems almost unaware of its challenging stance in the face of this otherwise monolithic presence.
Monday, March 26, 2012
Planting Confidence
I didn't meet my goal of getting everything this weekend, but Monday isn't too far off. Behold the goods:
And no procrastinating: When I got home from purchasing everything, I got right to work planting. Seriously, I didn't do anything else besides maybe get a glass of water. First I opened up the seed packages to examine what each of the different seeds looked like.
It's hard to really see the details of the differences in the picture, but you can see differences in size, color, and shape. The seeds on the top are basil, middle are chives, and bottom are parsley. As with the mint, I wasn't able to get the exact species of parsley that I had initially chosen. But no worries. After the examination, the action began:
And basically lots of what the above picture looks like (except I ended up ditching the gloves)--over and over--until... voila!
Seeds planted, just like that! It took all of maybe 15 minutes. Finishing touches included a nice incubating plastic wrap cover.
And now they are ready to chill on the sill and soak up lots of sun.
If all goes well, and I did this right, they should be popping up within 7 - 14 days. I can't wait! I'm so glad I followed through with this, and I already feel a sense of accomplishment. Thanks to all who have been checking out the blog and even asking about the project in person. The support has really helped me to stay on track when I started to waver a bit.
Sunday, March 25, 2012
Space Plants
Moving right along and propelled by the high of yesterday, I didn't waste anytime today: I got up, ate a quick breakfast, and assembled all the containers that I had collected to use as pots so that I could prepare them for potting.
Let's be real here: the preparation wasn't all that labor intensive. I stripped the containers of their labels and washed them out. Here's the after-shot:
Let's be real here: the preparation wasn't all that labor intensive. I stripped the containers of their labels and washed them out. Here's the after-shot:
I know I had said I planned on painting the containers, but seeing them lined up together with alternating sizes and the texture that was concealed by the label, I think I actually might like them as is, even though the metallic sheen conjures images of a futuristic era. If I do decide to slap some color on there, I'll only paint the two smaller containers that have a smoother texture. Coincidentally, I have some time to mull this over because I will be using one of the bigger pots to transplant the mint in, and obviously, I don't have any seedlings yet of my own that are in need of immediate transplant. Funny how it all works out.
I also harvested some leaves from the mint plant I bought yesterday...
And then used them to pep up a glass of iced green tea.
No mojito for sure, but refreshing nonetheless. Good day!
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