sage
“We have no say over the conditions in which we work and how our work is organised, and how it affects us physically and mentally. This lack of control over the work process transforms our capacity to work creatively into its opposite, so the worker experiences activity as passivity, power as impotence, procreation as emasculation, the worker's own physical and mental energy, his personal life - for what is life but activity? - as an activity directed against himself, which is independent of him and does not belong to him."
- Introduction to Marx's Theory of Alienation by Judy Cox
When we first moved into our house, all I could think about was a garden. That I could put a seed into the ground, give it no more than water and warm thoughts, and have it grow into something that would eventually translate into a meal thoughtfully prepared is nothing short of magic. Also, what better way to know exactly what you are putting into your body than to grow it yourself? To have that degree of control within your grasp is something else entirely.
According to Marx, when a process that we once were intimately involved with becomes something that is no longer under our control, we become alienated from it. Process meaning the making of a thing, from start to finish, beginning to end. Labor both at home and in the workplace has certainly changed and become a largely piecemeal thing, but so has our relationship with food. Unless you are a farmer, it is frequently viewed as an eccentricity, or badge of hipness, to be an American and raise your own food. Which is strange when you break it down and look at it. Thus Marx's only solution to the problem of alienation is going all in, elbows-deep. Creating a thing from beginning to end is the only antidote to being alienated from it (and thank you, Barbara Kingsolver, for making this wonderful connection between Marx's theory and plant life- if you want to read more about it, read her book Animal, Vegetable, Miracle).
What I discovered quickly enough is what is obvious to the non-amateur: it's work. Even still I was lucky. It was not me that shoveled through the hard ground to dig out space for our garden beds, nor was I the one to purchase and mix the mixture of peat moss, vermiculite and soil that went inside. What I did do was plant the seeds, water them carefully every morning, and leap with joy every time a new sprout or fruit appeared. What I did after that was nurse my bitter disappointment the morning I stepped outside to find every leaf and stalk shot through as if with teeny, tiny bullets.
While the the birds and insects might have been thankful for the feast, the joy I had been cultivating in the form of my latest pet project had been blasted to bits.
brussels sprouts
Like any other form of heartbreak, I made a silent vow to myself that I would never again be so foolish. It became a source of shame when I considered how my personal failure had little more than called out my vanity. Maybe my motives were impure and I really was just pursuing my own personal badge of hipness rather than trying to cultivate a healthier relationship with food. If that was the case, maybe I deserved to fail.
So when the Texas summer inexplicably waned into fall, planting another vegetable garden was the last thing on my mind. It would never have happened, had my BF's mother not casually mentioned that fall in the prime growing season in our region. I heard what she said, but it still didn't make an impact on me - from my one failure, I had assumed the stance of total ineptitude.
Until I thought to ask one question: 'Is there an insect problem during the fall season?'
Lee: 'No! That's why it's the perfect time of year.'
And then, while I stood there slack-jawed in awe at the new possibilities, Lee proceeded to sow 22 square feet of mixed lettuce and kale seeds in two out of our three garden beds. Like the magical person that she is. Okay, it happened like two days later. But still. Slack jawed with awe.
Not to be outdone, a few days later Nathan and I returned home from our local organic nursery with arms overladen with herbs, fruit and vegetable plants. Between rows of herbs, butter crunch lettuce and cabbage, mixed onions and shallots, broccoli, cauliflower and artichoke plants - not to mention the greens already in the ground - Nathan and I will be keeping in tasty company this winter.
Regaining faith in myself and plunging right back in turned out to be the best medicine. I am excited again, even joyful, but also realistic. I know it's more than likely that a great majority of what I planted will fail, and that's okay. It doesn't mean I can't dream about what these plants will become.
For instance, I already know that the gorgeous sage will eventually become this Pan-Fried Pumpkin Gnocci with Brown Butter Sage. If they yield into the humongous branches you see at the farmer's market this time of year, the brussels sprouts will undoubtedly find themselves nestled on top of this Brussels Sprouts, Bacon and Goat Cheese Pizza. And even more than the final product itself, I am incredibly excited to share this food with people I love. It being the food-centric time of year that it is, I should have plenty of opportunities.
xo,
Kirsten
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