After the Harvest. . .

by Melissa Jeter aka HUF

Finally, I got outside and and turned the dirt over.   As I took my pitchfork and pierced the ground, I thought about how I was creating a clean slate from which to plant again.
The stalks of corn were still holding on to the soil. I pulled and dug into the dirt until finally there was a sweet release.

I pulled out the tomato plants and threw the vegetation on the compost pile. As I pulled and dug into the ground, I looked at the dying brown leaves and red, rotting tomatoes still hanging on the vine.  Looking at this, I wondered if this death also inspired the fall holidays like Samhein and in turn Halloween.  It may not be the case, but the last of the vegetables put me in a mood of mourning death.

The raised beds are desolate and I miss going outside in the heat and picking a juicy tomato or herb that I could eat with mixed greens. However, I am grateful for what I was able to put away. Those frozen mashed potatoes will taste ever so good when I thaw a few.

Of course, I have a personal policy of refraining from thawing what I put away until or on Thanksgiving. I have such a great feeling of satisfaction when I look in my freezer or the cabinets.




I have a theory that all the really fun and empowering parts of home cooking and food preparation have been taken out of modern cooking. To see the seed planted in the dirt come alive and bear fruit is spectacular. I value the process of the fruit getting to my table. I value the hours spent digging in the soil on hot summer days. By my hands, I have been able to put some food on my plate. I enjoy this. I enjoy shopping for food, but I appreciate participating more actively in preparing food. I don't consider myself a cook, but a kitchen artist.




I find myself looking at my full freezer and cabinets feeling satisfied. The last of the potatoes have been harvested and all the green tomatoes have either been canned or eaten. Yet, I mourn the lush life that thrived in the now empty raised beds.  It rains cold and I am really emotionally ill-prepared for what comes next. Though, I know what I need to do.

Just give me a few more weeks to enjoy the green grass and reminisce, because what comes after the harvest. . . .

What did she do with all those potatoes?

by Melissa Jeter aka HUF

The potato harvest was fantastic! Now, I know you are wondering what I did with all those potatoes.  Well, after thoroughly washing them I made mashed potatoes of course. Here's a heuristic recipe: Cut up your potatoes and boil them in water. When they are soft, meaning test the softness of the potatoes with a fork. If the potato falls apart easily, t hen it is time to drain off the water and mash.  I use the following in my mash potatoes, balsamic vinegar, a milk (I use almond milk, but you can use cow mil or soy milk or any other kind of milk that floats your boat), garlic powder, salt, and pepper. Once again, this is a heuristic, so use these ingredients at amounts that taste good to you.

Now once, I cooked up all those mashed potatoes, I  froze them for later.  I scooped them out on an oiled pan and put the pan in the freezer. Once frozen, I put them in a bag that I can vacuum seal

The next dish I tried was potato salad.  I'm not a potato salad kind of farmer, so I thought I would try a new recipe.  Well, I just didn't like it at all. I used a low fat, vegan dressing, mustard and garlic powders, and a little salt.  Here's what it looks like.   However, I still don't like potato salad. 

Someone help me! Give me a recipe I can use.

Is it entitlement, the fruits of my labor, and/or something more?

If you planted it, don’t you deserve it? Aren’t you entitled to the vegetables your garden?



I plant a seed, so I deserve the fruits of that seed? Right?

Watch this video below- the story of the Little Red Hen

http://youtu.be/5QSsqls-R3o



According to the video with the little Red Hen, the answer is yes. There is a process that must happen before you get that bread, fruit or vegetable from a seed. Some of that seed's growth is due to your efforts and some of it feels like mystery or the science of horticulture and agriculture.

 You know that voice that says I deserve this because of that.

I guess we all have a sense of entitlement. However, I hope that I can work in harmony with the seed and the ecology in a way that will allow this seed to become a plant and bare fruit. And then there is the necessary weeding.

The Little Red Hen eats the bread herself when everyone declined her offer to help plant the seed.
Do I deserve the fruit if I've planted the seed?  Am I entitled to the fruit if I have nurtured the plant, given it heat, protected it from predators, housed it, bought the seeds from the seed savers exchange?

What do I deserve? That question implies so much judgement. If I think there are only two possible answers yes or no, then there is judgement and shame. Guilt applies to wrong doing.

And I can be guilty.

I can be responsible and I think nature is more complex than simplistic either this or that and causal thinking.


As for the shame, well. . .shame indicates there is something wrong with you. Guilt indicates that you did something wrong. One you can change, the other you cannot. Guilt, I can do something about. Shame on the other hand asks some existential questions about my being.  . .  At best shame is a path to a dark night of the soul, at worst. . .well let's just say I'd rather be response able and alive. I refuse to considder ther alternative.  



What path did I take? What relationships nurture the growth of the seed? How much is there that is too tiny to see that is occurring that sparks the life in the seed?


I am living with this question, because I have a lot of feelings about this. I don't have an answer. For all that science can tell us about the soil, the seed, the ecology, that seed still grows -in it's own time. I'm still amazed by that. What the answer is matters. Yet, how the answers come about matter too.


So maybe what you deserve is a question that can be reframed in terms of how. What is the process involved in getting from seed to plant to fruit? The little Red Hen plants the seed, waters the seed, and the wheat grows.  The other animals decline to help. Do those animals deserve to have any bread when the wheat has been harvested and made into bread? How can these animals expect that they can eat up the bread after all of the Little Red Hen's work? This is a question of heart-a question of contemplation.

My fellow community gardeners garden with the intention to give food away to people. Those people have not been asked to be a part of the process.  The food is given as a gift.  However, food does not just drop out of the sky- to paraphrase Erie Sauder, founder of Sauder Village. There is work that must be done to get that food to the plate. And most people have no idea how the food on their plate gets there or how much work is involved to get it to their mouths.


There is a dignity derived from this process of getting food from garden to plate. There is a sense of helplessness that comes from the lack of ability to provide for one's self. This sense of helplessness and dignity are represented in all the diy movements and back to the earth movements and hobby farming as well as urban farming.  These movements also indicate a sense of guilt associated with declining to be response able about the food we eat. People in these movements discover what it really takes to put food in their mouths and begin to have a better appreciation of the food in the grocery store.  Even more, people, begin to ask questions about how the seed was planted. People begin to realize that the process really matters. The process determines the quality in the food. 

Perhaps, the story of the Little Red Hen presents a challenge to us to be more responsible about what we know about how food gets to our plate.  I'd like to think that the other animals who decline to help in planting a seed as guilty and response able. It's not to late to figure it out.