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. . . .