My, How They've Grown

  

                                                                           

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.

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):

The Line-up of Ingredients. Can you spot the mint?

Slivered Basil and Mint

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.

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.

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!

Mentha During a Storm

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!

Aromatherapeutic Interlude

The earthy, menthol scent of freshly torn mint leaves on my fingertips cools frazzled nerves.

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?

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.

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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.

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.

An actual pot!

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!