The Garden Dirt: The Selfish Side of Sharing

Sharing doesn't just help others, it can help you, which you're not supposed to care about if you're a good sharer, but I can't help myself.

Let me tell you about some garlic.

My beloved Spanish Roja arrived, years ago,  in the form of one bulb from Territorial Seed Co. I planted it in October, was delighted by its early vigorous green spears in January, and moved by its spicy dirt smell when I harvested it in August.

The cloves from the largest couple of bulbs from that year went back into the soil a few months later, and the following year, I had a larger crop, of larger bulbs.

 How exciting! This has gone on for years now, with each subsequent generation bringing consistently large, robust, delicious, bulbs.
 

Just when I thought I had really gotten the hang of this garlic-growing thing, I suddenly lost this year's crop to some disease.

My internet-based diagnosis is white rot. This saddened me, not just because I would miss eating Spanish Roja, but because I found myself garlickless, with nothing to plant this October. I guess I could buy a new variety, maybe two. The shopper in me can totally roll with this tragedy, but the gritty survivalist cheapskate in me gets cranky at the thought of losing my line; my fine giant friend who could wondrously reincarnate, better than ever, year after year.

It felt like we had such a good thing going. But hang in there, because this story has a happy ending. It takes place here, in what I refer to as "Vecino* Garden."

 *Vecino is how you say "neighbor" in Spanish. Our neighbors know what we mean when we say it, and my kids are learning.

It's the spot of lawn closest to our neighbors. I do most of the work and they are allowed to eat what grows there. We have some of their favorites: Raspberries, strawberries, and sugar snap peas.

One thing I decided to plant here last fall is ajo. A who? Ah-ho. It's how you say "garlic" if you're our neighbors.

I put it in because I wanted the kids to see something growing there over the winter. A few weeks ago, I invited them to pull out the bulbs and shake away the soil. The crop was small, but healthy, thanks to being far from the fungal bed.When I described garlic to the kids, I got blank looks which quickly evaporated, leaving only disinterest. This was not sweet or ready to eat now. They were reluctant to pester their mom with it, so I got to have it back! I plan to plant every clove.

 What a nice lady I am, right? I planted a garden for the neighbor kids. So patient. So generous.

Hardly! I have a thick streak of grumpy old man to me. Years ago, the sight of these very neighbor children, wandering through our property, snapping the blooms off the tulips and hanging from my magnolia tree, made me shout "Get off my lawn!" in botched Spanish. Not to be territorial, but I was growing food and they were destructive to it.

So, I had a fair reason to enforce a border, but I still didn't feel good about waging a war on it. Eventually, I realized that these children were not going anywhere. They were very soon going to be teenagers, with childhood memories of the forbidden garden next door and the mean lady who wouldn't share.

As much as they had annoyed me, I couldn't forget that they are also healthy and smart. Thus, they crave a connection with the natural world around them. They are like my children. And my children are far easier to get along with when engaged rather than thwarted. Truly believing that nature benefits a person as they grow up, I couldn't deny that I wanted that for them too. So, I asked what they wanted grown in their garden and made sure their parents knew they had my permission to be there and eat whatever ripened.  When I work in rest of the yard, they hang out there, eating and asking questions. They have learned to respect the plants in their garden and no longer deflower everything in sight, since they know some flowers eventually become berries.

Our little neighbors have lived here for five years now, and my kids call them friends. We haven't had much more garden damage at their hands. That might be because they've grown up a little, but I prefer to believe it's because I cultivated a compromise in that little spot of grass we share, along with three bulbs of garlic that grew far far away from the fungus-ridden spot which claimed the rest of my crop.

Here's what I have learned in Vecino Garden: Sharing is necessary for survival.You have to share because you don't know what will happen next. When life deals you troublesome tots and white rot, operating with a little generosity can turn vecinos into amigos and save your bulbs.

The Muddy Kitchen: It's Easy Being Green

Whew, summer! Is it just me or do the longer days act as a vacuum, sucking into existence ten million new things to do everyday? More daylight should mean getting more done, and while we have been doing a lot, it doesn't feel like we're getting much done. Hence the blogless month of June.  But I am grabbing a very squirmy July by the tail. I have something to say and I am carving out time to say it, minute by minute, as I work on tonight's dinner.

That's right, a recipe! But first, some details: I have a summer job. That might be contributing to my overflowing schedule, now that I think about it, but it's totally worth it. I have the best job I could possibly have. I work at my local farmer's market, running a booth that is like a co-op. My neighbors bring what they grow, and I sell it for them. Not only does this generate income for the smallest scale farmers in my area, it supplies our market with a more diverse selection. People grow interesting stuff when they know they'll be using it on a small scale. I mean, Magenta Spreen?

I'm pretty sure we were the only booth in town with iridescent pink leaves last weekend.

Of course, my booth showcases a lot of conventional fare as well. One thing that grows and sells like hotcakes is greens. Kale and chard, mostly. People want to eat them, they know they should eat them, they buy them, they try to cook them, but sometimes they hate them, but they know they should eat them, but they really don't want to anymore. So, regularly, someone dutifully lifts a bunch of great ribbed rubbery leaves from its water-filled bin; and holds it, dripping, aloft, asking, "But, what do you do with it?" That's when I get excited and start talking fast. Because I used to HATE eating greens, but now I LOVE them. I believe this transformation warrants capital letters, and is due to my having developed a method of preparing them which renders them delicious (especially with roasted potatoes.)

Mix It Up: Back where I grew up, this would be called a mess of greens.

It would also be cooked in bacon fat, but now I'm just getting ahead of myself. Look at this photo.

There are five different kinds of leaves here. One thing that always made eating a mess of greens less than appetizing, for me, was that I was usually eating a mess of one kind of green only. Collards and kale, in particular, I never liked. But I can eat them now, because I eat them with a bunch of other plants. When there is a variety of flavors (turnip tops, beet tops, chard, kale, mustard), my mess sings, rather than bash you over the head with one funky or spicy form of chlorophyll.

Separation of Leaf and Stalk: One sacred rule when cooking greens, and a lot of vegetables, is not to overcook them. Removing the thickest portion of the leaf allows it be cooked separately.

For tender stalks, I just trim them off of the end of the leaf. For thicker stalks, I cut the stalk out of leaf a bit.

 This means the delicate leafy part can be cooked later in the process, for less time than the stalks.

Add Allium:                

 This little guy is your secret weapon. 

Who says greens just have to contain greens? Add some chopped garlic, onion, scallion, chives, whatever to your mess before the delicate leafy parts go in.

I put onions with the stalks. The chopped garlic is in its own bowl because I add it a little after the stalks and onions have cooked, a few minutes before adding the leafy parts. Onion turns translucent and sweet when sautéed for a long time, but garlic turns brown and bitter,.

 Flavorful Fat:

 As I mentioned before, bacon fat is the preferred oil for those who prepare greens the old-fashioned way. I use butter, or vegetable oil I've saved from frying.

Meet my girl, Sherry: 

 Well, la-dee-da. Look who thinks she's all fancy. It's the lady who adds a little cooking sherry to her sautéeing leaf stalks, (seasoning with salt and pepper, and letting it cook on med-high for a minute, to remove the alcohol and reduce to a light broth.)

 You might be reading this thinking, "Okay, now you lost me. I'm not one of those fancy 'cooks with wine' people." Neither was I! But then, I obeyed a succotash recipe I read online. Later, another online huckleberry sauce recipe used up the rest of the bottle I bought for the succotash recipe. I bought another bottle as a replacement, without a recipe ordering me to do so, I missed it that much. It's probably in the salad dressing aisle of your grocery store. Get some and get over yourself. You're one of those people now.

When the stalks are tender, add the chopped leafy parts.

The more finely you chop them, the easier they are for little mouths to eat . Turn the heat to med-low and stir constantly, for about two minutes. Then cover and remove from heat.

Sweet and Sour:  Give your greens a stir and a taste. Do they need something? Think sweetener. Sometimes a sprinkled pinch of sugar helps. Or a little acid. Try a splash of balsamic vinegar or squirt of lemon juice.

Last Ditch Effort: This is for those of you who cannot be reached. You did everything like I said, and you still hate your greens. But now you have this mess on your hands, and it'd be nice if you could find some way to get your family to eat it, after which, you swear, you will never never try to eat them again. Parmesan cheese. A handful or two of that has made all the difference with those in our household who are less inclined to love their leafy meal. Beyond that, I don't know what to tell you. Feed it to your chickens.