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.
Tuesday, June 26, 2012
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.
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