Wow! Nearly a month
since I last blogged! Phew…well, my
excuse is that it is autumn. Autumn is
the last nice-weather season before the long, dark, wet days of winter set in
here in the great Pacific Northwest.
Don’t get me wrong, I adore the tradition of winter around here. We layer up.
Fleece replaces linen. Flannel
replaces cotton. Gortex replaces
canvas. Pedicures become all about
moisturizing and less about fun-colored toes. (What can I say? I’m a femme kind of lesbian…) But autumn is
the last great season to be
outside. And on days like today when it’s
cool with scattered showers, my attention…no my very core of being…feels the
need to can, to preserve, to freeze, to prepare for the coming months.
When I go to the farmer’s market in the fall, my eyes scan
and search for the root vegetables and squashes that will feed me through the
winter. I stuff down the panic that
tomotoes will only come from my frozen sauce or the jars I can. It will be months before I hold the fresh
ripe fruit in my hands again. Lettuce
will be replaced by kale. This has been
my way of life for more than ten years— locally grown food and eating
seasonally. It’s innate in me - this seasonal clock ticking away. In my world this time of year is a quarter to
the witching hour of winter.
With this ticking growing louder like something out of Edgar
Allen Poe, on my last visit to the farmer’s market I stuffed my bag full of
winter squash — acorn, butternut and spaghetti, to be exact. It took control not to take every kind. They’re so beautiful and edibly alluring.
This morning I awoke intent on roasting these lovely vessels
of vitamins. It will take me the better part of the day to finish this project.
You see, I no longer have a country kitchen with a 36-inch double oven, 20
linear feet of counter tops, an extra freezer and a pantry. I now live in an urban studio apartment that
is the size of the average hotel room. I
possess 40 inches of working space. Nevertheless, I cut and cleaned my squash this
morning. I am taking turns roasting them
off, having stuffed them into the smallest oven known to humankind. What I don’t eat tonight will be pureed and
frozen. My freezer is the size of a small
cooler so between the squash, frozen tomato sauce and blueberries, I’m asking
myself how important are the “just in case of emergency” ice packs in the
door. I won’t need ice cubes until
summer.
I live in a city that is better than most about locally-sourced
and seasonal foods. I have connected
with several farmers and have identified sources so that I can sustain my
values around eating food from places and people I know. Later today, when I serve spaghetti squash
and homemade tomato sauce for the first time to my girlfriend (who watches this
domestic explosion with varying levels of humor), I will be coming to terms
with the fact that my life is different now.
And that’s okay.
