Green Nostalgia

A wave of nostalgia unexpectedly rocked my boat this evening while I robotically chugged along, preparing dinner.  Suddenly I found myself poised at the kitchen counter with knife in hand, feeling sentimental over (would you believe) a beautiful bunch of floppy, organically grown, hunter-green swiss chard.

Stopped in mid-chop with knife airborne, hands dripping wet, I admitted to myself how much I miss not having a garden.  Years ago, March was the month to pore over the seed catalogs and dream of what to plant, and how much, and where.  Now our small, shady yard doesn’t have room for a garden.

As I visually embraced the beautiful greens before me, their red and yellow stems accenting dark leaves, their intricate veins mimicking my own blood vessels, there was another side to the nostalgia - a sort of wistful appreciation for youthful vigor.  I remembered spending long hours bent over at the waist, or on my knees, weeding and thinning tender little plants while the hot sun prickled my shoulders.  I remembered the comfort of warm dirt crumbling through my fingers; the harvesting, washing, blanching, and freezing of huge quantities vegetables for the winter – so much wonderful food at such little cost!  One year we grew volumes of butternut squash that kept well all winter sprawled out on the concrete basement floor.  I remembered this bounty, the fruit of our soil and the fruit of sweaty labor, with a sense of gratitude and more than a hint of longing.  

Now dinner is over and the dishes have been washed, and yet I remain awash in warm garden-related memories. Our own plentifully-producing swiss chard plants sustained many repeated cuttings: I can still envision the row of prolific leaves with occasional holes (evidence of a caterpillar’s lunch). That was another lifetime ago, a time when my fingernails held dirt, when the flies, bees, mosquitoes, ladybugs, grasshoppers, and Japanese beetles shared the garden with me: a living community of plenty.  I am glad for those days of fulfilling work, and for the ability to nostalgically remember them.