Every day, it seems, another cucumber (though this shall pass soon enough). And baby carrots–first new carrots of the season. I asked friends and neighbors who were at the house this morning whether they would like a cucumber. As fellow gardeners who are also members of a CSA, they denied with almost a shudder. It is evidently a good year for cucumbers not just in my garden.
There’s lots of arugula in the garden. Some still new enough to save for salad, some that has bolted in the heat. The cilantro is just about gone with the dry heat. The basil and parsley have gone to flower. As I thought about how best to enjoy all of what was there while simultaneously best tending the garden for optimal growth (much like yoga practice), I remembered that I had seen a farmer with arugula pesto at the Dupont Circle Fresh Farm Market last week. I bought something else from the farmer to honor the idea, fully conscious of my own garden full of arugula calling out to me.
Making pesto was a great way to optimize the bitter tang of the flowers on the older plants. (I left a few of each type of plant to go to seed for a second crop starting in late summer on a volunteer basis). I added enough of the young arugula and some tender parsley and basil leaves, along with the basil flowers, to bring out the arugula taste that would have been hidden by the bitterness in the plants that had flowered if not been combined with other foods. I pureed the chopped greens with olive oil, walnuts, and green garlic. Salt and pepper to taste.
Sometimes when I am blogging about my garden — the joys I experience and its wonderful produce — I feel like I might be presumptuous. I am no Christoper Lloyd or Alice Waters. I just have a tiny space behind my urban, rowhouse that I have turned into a personal celebration.
A visitor from out of town graciously commented that in some ways the limits of my garden make it even more wonderful. In this sense, I know, perhaps best, from my garden the yoga teaching that ultimately to find freedom in this life we need to celebrate all we are within our limitations to find an inner space of unbounded, liberation.
(Shown here, cucumbers, mint, nasturtiums, peppers, greens, sage, savory, basil, okra, onions, more peppers, red and yellow cherry tomatoes (well picked), brandywine and roma tomatoes, eggplant (slow to start this year), echinacea, lavender, orchid.)
The first of Patanjali’s niyamas (part of the ethical precepts that are precursors to the practice of asana, pranayama, and meditation) is sauca — purity or cleanliness. The practice of sauca includes in it a literal exhortation to be physically clean. I think it also carries with it a sense of order, a cleaning out of physical, mental, and emotional clutter, so that we have more clarity. When we find more clarity, we can be more in the flow with the inexorable sequence of time and space.
Experiencing how we fit into the pulsation of time and space is one of the exquisite joys of gardening. This time of year, avid gardeners are eager to get int the garden, and it is tempting to get started to soon, to start new things without cleaning out the old. When we are more experienced (and know better the optimal sequencing of starting the garden with the shifting of the seasons), we also know that we might have gotten a few days in the 50s F, but it is still winter.
Emphasizing the practice of sauca now will serve the whole gardening season. When it is still cold, but the heart yearns for the garden, is the time to be planning, reorganizing, and cleaning to get ready for the days when it will stay warm enough for growing outside a cold frame or protected area. As I use a lot of containers, now is the time for me to see what containers need repairs, removal of perennials that did not make it through the winter, and new soil. It is the time to prune what is better pruned now than in the fall. This is not just trashing everything, but seeing what should be preserved, what should be repaired, what should be cleaned, and what should be discarded or given away. It is cleaning out what gets in the way of an optimal flow of energy to experience the greatest effulgence of nature. By practicing the cleaning and clearing out phase with intention and enthusiasm, I am present with the garden and also in sequence with the light and the temperature. In this way, just as I am when I practice these principles on the mat, I get the bliss of yoga.
For a garden to thrive, it takes planning, knowledge/study, and engagement. To still find joy in it, one must also surrender to the vagaries out of our control. Sure enough, every year, with variations in weather and seed/root/plant stock, some things will be especially prolific, and others —perhaps our favorites—will fail despite best efforts.
