When I came home from teaching today, I put together a salad of sprouted lentils, celery, spring onions, and walnuts, dressed with walnut oil and aged, organic balsamic vinegar. What made the salad special was freshness of the lentil sprouts, the subtlety of newly ground pink himalayan salt and the little luxury, the balsamic vinegar. In the summer, it would be great with a new cucumber from the garden on a bed of fresh mixed greens.
A couple of weeks ago, a good friend gave me a box of perfect vidalia onions. She had been given two boxes. She said, “These onions were so good; I wanted to give them to someone who would truly appreciate them. I first thought of you.” I was delighted, “yes, I’d love some vidalias.” They are exquisite. I’ve been making delicate sautes, grilling them, dicing them into salads, and marveling at their sweetness. I passed a few on to others that both would fully appreciate the onions as a culinary matter and also know my friend, who is a former co-worker.
Last night I went to take class at Willow Street and was talking a little with the work study students at the desk after class before heading home. “Would you like some onions?” asked one of the work study students, who does great work with the Fresh Farm Markets around town. “Oh, how lovely, no, no thank you,” I replied, “A friend just gave me a box of vidalia onions and I have shallots, baby leeks, spring onions, and garlic chives in my garden.” “I think you have enough in the allium family already,” she agreed, “would you like a cucumber?” “A cucumber? Yes, that would be great. I’ve only gotten one ripe one so far; they aren’t liking the cool wet.” She gave me a cucumber and a zucchini from a farm visit she had done that morning, which made my evening (I am so easily pleased).
This morning I wondered about these offers of onions. It is not as though it is a regular thing for me twice in a space of a couple of weeks to be given bounteous offers of exquisite onions. Did it mean something?
Onion comes from the same latin root as “union.” Unlike garlic, in whose family onions belong, onions grow a single, undivided bulb, which is the likely reason for the development of the word onion. From sketchy researching on the internet, I find onions are also the symbol of “good” and fullness — hence the onion domes in architecture. The ancient Egyptions thought the onion a symbol of eternity (layer upon layer of being) and truth. Yes, I like thinking these onions (those I took home and those that were gifted instead, no doubt, to some other appreciative soul) were meant to bring me to think of good, of union, of the eternal truth in gifts and shared pleasure in sharing delicious, healing, fresh food with friends.
Including gentle yoga asana to address the places that feel a bit stuck after 2 1/2 hours in a hard small chair with a desk attached to the right side (I write with my left hand). I change my position almost constantly, but slowly, so that it’s not disruptive.
On my way to and from work, I watched the buds and blooms–some brown, some bravely hanging on, some withering around the edges and starting to wilt; the cherries–mostly in bud or just starting to open–that haven’t fully blasted yet, will do so by the end of the cold period following the storm.
I’ve seen years when the cherry blossoms were torn from the trees at their lushest by a violent storm coming through with a cold front and and years when a spring snow added to the blossoms and years when the blossoms were well before or after the parade. I haven’t seen a year in my over 30 years here, where the blossoms just died from a weirdly early false spring followed by a winter storm with bitter cold. I am sure it is just coincidence and not correlation that this sorry withering of the loveliest part of Washington spring happened this at this particular time.
In the meantime, I am certain that I will need to go out first thing in the morning to shovel and then will need to turn on my computer and go to work. I’m sure I will find the snow (when I am not thinking about the impact on flowering and fruiting perennials), even the shoveling, invigorating and somewhat enjoyable. To provide nourishment that takes into account the extra exercise and how the shoveling time will impact my usual morning routine, tonight after washing up, I put up overnight apple oatmeal. Into the slow cooker went a couple of diced apples, a handful of raisins, steel cut oats, cinnamon, a bit of butter, and a dash of salt. When I wake up, It will smell something like apple crisp, and it will be just the thing to fuel snow shoveling. With the extra, I will make muffins for later in the week.
To make space at William Penn House for a full group of college students visiting DC to take advocacy training and to do service projects, Tuesday Night Yoga practice was cancelled. The regulars decided to go out for dinner instead–a most pleasant way to spend my birthday eve.
I was asked what I wanted from this year. Hard to know what I want, I said, with all the chaos and tragedy and upheaval. I think I want to find more ways to share my resources–talents, time, and finances–and maintain equanimity and joy, while deepening friendships and connections to community. If this year brings that, I will indeed be among the very fortunate.
