A Lesson in Resilience

THE WEEK

This week, looking out at our yard, I notice the blossoms of our small hydrangea bush have blushed from green-white to apricot. How far we’ve come. Last spring, on the first warm Sunday in May, I embarked on garden tidying with vengeance. The winter had dragged on for what felt like a year or more, the lawn was a sour yellow, trees and bushes remained in a leafless brown state. I gifted myself a pair of garden loppers and a small-toothed handsaw and set out to create order among a clutter of limbs in our neglected hedgerow. If the world was going to hell in a handbasket, I figured, at the very least I could cut and prune and hack trees and bushes into shape. By the time I reached the small hydrangea, I had conquered the outskirts of our lawn. Two aged Rose of Sharons were significantly thinned, as were the ancient lilac bush, a magnolia, a red twig, and several forsythias. A force of will had overtaken me as I hacked, and when I couldn’t saw through a particularly thick branch, I used my ribs as a fulcrum against my pruners and hoisted my weight tree-side. There was satisfaction in feeling the resistance of a branch give way and thunk solidly to ground, and I was pleased to think my cuts would bring light and air into the hearts of bushes long left a thicket. The hydrangea was dessert. A combination of impatience and confidence spurred me on and I trimmed the little tree down, and kept cutting. When Peter passed by its shorn crown, he glanced at me. “You went a little hard on that one.” In truth, I had. A nest of overlapping twiggy branches had tested me. Little cuts were begotten by deeper, more significant sheerings-off, in an attempt at order, until I was left with several stark, bereft branches. “Let’s see,” I offered. By June, the small tree, which stands squat sentry by the entrance of our house, leafed out from her amputated state. By late-June, blossoms were beginning to form, and by high summer, she was covered by clouds of white flowers and worked attentively by bees. Now, her bower is heavied by significant blooms. In a world of bad news, with a shadowy, uncertain future (though what is the future, if not uncertain?) the little tree who flourished after losing one-third of herself offers me, if not hope, a lesson in resilience and fierce tending. Maybe we will all be cut down in size and rise up, stronger. Let’s see.

The ticking of the clock is a constant background hum on a farm. Yesterday we pulled our remaining cucumber vines, cherry tomatoes, and heaps of basil plants from one greenhouse, to free up prized real-estate for winter crops. With a garbage bag of basil facing me, pesto is in order. If summer can’t last, let it be freezable, popped into icecube trays, and redeemable in January. If anyone is keen for basil in quantity, stop by the store today or tomorrow.

We are well stocked with a bounty of end of summer veggies: tomatoes, zucchini, summer squash, peppers, scallions, herbs, heaps of lettuces, carrots, cukes, radishes, as well as a mix of winter squashes, potatoes, onions, garlic, tender broccolini, beets, kales, chard, collards, and one of my personal favorites: sweet husk cherries. From John Bunker we have the last of his exceptional grapes in (petite, dark purple, thin-skinned, very sweet), and some tasty, small dessert apples.

HAPPENINGS

Saturday, 9/26, 5 p.m. Pizza night with Uproot Pie Co! Come celebrate the fall harvest with us! Uproot will be here making their great wood-fired pies, there will be live music, and as a special treat, Scalawag Farm will be bringing a selection of young goats to pet and admire! This is free and open to all, but we ask you to pre-register here, for parking and pie-making headcount. This is a family friendly event but we ask that you please keep an eye on your kids while they enjoy the farm, and leave your dogs at home.

WEEKLY

Wednesdays…… Demetra Bread @ 11

Thursdays…. Spark Bagel @ 11

Fridays………. Demetra Bread @ 11

Saturday… Camden Farmers Market 9-12

FROM THE PANTRY

Matinicus Wild Salt: We are pleased to offer this excellent salt, made on Matinicus Island, by Usha Beaudoin. Just in time for roasting season, we have large and small jars. To me, salt is the ultimate spice, with the unique capacity to elevate the flavor of whatever it touches. This salt, which is wonderfully flaked, solar cured, and carefully processed in small batches by hand twenty-odd miles to to sea, is wonderful on fruit, baked goods, salads, and anything roasted.

ON OUR TABLE

Pesto is whatever you make of it. When I hear pesto, I assume basil, but in Italian, it just means pounded. I usually opt for the ease of a food processor, but when time allows, a silky rendering of flavor and texture emerges from pounding pesto. This recipe from Ottolenghi, offers a nice bit of heat into the mix.