The Burden of Honoring the Treasure That It Is

It was our first act of "saving the season".  Lori this morning made pickles.  I'm not sure of the quantity -- I was busy weeding among the okra plants -- but based on the number of cucumbers we've stuffed into the refrigerator in recent days a safe estimation would be "lots".  Confessionally speaking, we don't really eat that many pickles, and these are the quick refrigerator pickles that have a chilled shelf life of six weeks.  But what else are you going to do?  We have all this harvest -- the fruit of careful seed selection, sore muscles and hours of attention -- and we are headed out of town for a few days, every passing one of which degrades the value of what we've picked.  And while they are crazy about the occasional cucumber treat, the chickens don't need a steady diet of them.  Maybe it is "kicking the can down the road," but this morning's pickles buy us a little time.

We have yet to come up with concomitant plans for the squash, the kale, the collards and the chard.

All of which reveals the tertiary challenge of gardening.  First there is the locational challenge -- choosing a site and preparing the soil.  Fast on the heals of location comes the environmental challenge -- making sure the plants have adequate water, ample sunlight, protection from insects and disease and encroaching weeds.  And then there is the harvest challenge:  what's the plan for all this stuff that grows?

One can, to borrow an economic example, employ the cash flow model -- simply eating the harvest as it comes in -- and in the early weeks of summer this is an exhilarating strategy.  Pick it, cook it; simple as that.  But unless you garden in a wheelbarrow, it isn't long before the abundance begins to bury you.  Yesterday alone I brought in a dozen large squashes, and a like number of cucumbers.  Similarly, the day before.  And we have been eating our weight in kale.  But there is a limit, and we are only two, plus as much company as we can invite over.  Some savings plan becomes a priority.

Hence, the pickles.
And the blanched chard stowed in the freezer.
And, when they ripen, pounds of tomatoes converted into salsa, ketchup, tomato paste and marinara cooked, canned or frozen.

The old books speak of it as "putting food by" and at the very least exemplifies the Aesopian ant's wisdom of planning for the future so as not to go hungry when the pickings are more bare.  It is, indeed, prudence, and winter surely is coming -- never mind this morning's sweat-soaked shirt and regardless of what the meteorologists are forecasting for the next 7 days.  But I suggest the more descriptive and relevant virtue of this discipline is stewardship. 

Our culture doesn't have a lot to show in this regard.  We manufacture cheaply, assuming we'll soon throw whatever it is away.  We buy huge jugs of milk because it's cheaper that way, but let it sour in the refrigerator door from disuse.  By the time we've pared off the skins and blemishes and ends and stalks of the vegetables in our recipes our trashcans contain more than our skillets.  We live amidst great abundance, but the curse of surplus is the absence of any real compulsion to squeeze the most out of what we have.  Even our pioneering forebears who, it must be said, certainly didn't have a lot, cultivated a field until they used it up and then abandoned it and moved a little further west because the one abundance around was land.  Municipalities invest precious resources into roads sidewalks and bridges and sewers and then fail to set aside the funds to maintain them.  A careful and critical walk around most church buildings -- liturgical gold spun from offertory straw -- will have little difficulty noticing stained ceilings, crumbling plaster, frayed carpet and worn floors.  As stewards -- those who take responsible care of what we have -- we have more to learn than to teach.

And the garden, right now, is ringing the school bell.  "What," it is asking me, "will you do with all I am giving you?" 

The ant, I suppose, would have thought this through in the spring when the seeds were first in the ground.  But I still have time to think my way through the possibilities -- but only a little.  Today it's the cucumbers and the squash and the greens, but it won't be long before those okra plants I weeded around this morning start calling my name with an urgent note in their voice...

...and the beets and the peppers and the cabbage and the potatoes and the tomatoes and...

Because it only starts with the planting and the growing.  The deliciously burdensome and exciting but also sacred work settles in with the harvest.

Putting food by. 

Honoring the treasure that it is.