My grandmother loved seed catalogs. She would spend hours poring over the brightly colored pages, hunched next to her big white stove with the door propped open to warm her hands. She would debate the qualities of the vegetables pictured and ask her frequent drop-in visitors their opinion of a particular variety.
Although vegetables were her practical choices, her true love was finding the perfect flowers for the approaching spring. The two small beds next to her back door would overflow each year with a brilliant display of daffodils, irises, hyacinth and in good years, a smattering of tulips. The sweet little snowdrops, Stars-of-Bethlehem and violets popped up among the others – a permanent part of the ever-changing exhibition. Everyone who dropped by for a cup of coffee and small talk were treated to one of spring’s best shows.
Like my grandmother, my younger brother Josh enjoyed the garden catalogs delivered to our mailbox every January and he would delight in the promises so eloquently stated in the descriptions he read. Josh claimed the area in the front of our house as his own and created a large mixed bed of vegetables and flowers that he tended year-round.
For many years, we enjoyed the fruits of his labor. It was a source of joy, and frustration, as he worked to battle the elements, bugs, disease and intrusions by our cat and occasionally the dog.
About once a week during growing season, he would pick Mom a bouquet of flowers for the kitchen table. She loved the way they brightened up the room, making her daily cooking, baking and cleaning a more joyful task. Looking back, I realize my brother and I always brought her flowers, although I am sure many of them would qualify as weeds, especially when we were small. Mom always oohed and aahed over every one, no matter how small or droopy or large and awkward they were.
Now, I know the happiness and amusement she must have felt at our sometimes pitiful offerings when my own grandchildren excitedly present me with their latest finds clutched tightly in tiny fists. “Those are the most beautiful flowers,” I tell them as I search for just the right vase, add water, arrange them carefully and place them on my kitchen table or in the windowsill where I can admire them while I work.
The bouquets my brother brought Mom from that front garden were certainly more spectacular than anything we had given her at that point, but I think it was the reminder of those long-ago, less-than-perfect gifts that made her smile.
Josh could grow anything – from calla lilies to carrots – although they didn’t always turn out like the catalog pictures. Once, he had a carrot that looked exactly like a Marilyn Monroe pose and one that looked suspiciously like a famous mouse. Harvest time was definitely interesting because we never knew what he would bring in next!
Dreaming of gardening during these long, dark, cold nights of winter brings a little springtime into our lives, but I remind myself that without this season of rest, the spring flowers wouldn’t flourish. Like a wise teacher once told me, “Don’t fight your reality; lean into it, and see what happens.”
This winter, try to “lean into” these long, chilly nights, appreciate the time to dream a little, reflect and rest a bit. Everything needs a season of quiet to be at its best … even you. Happy dreaming!
Chill-Chasing Chili
This one will definitely warm you up, especially if you bump up the chili powder!
2 lbs. ground hamburger
1 large yellow onion, chopped
1 clove garlic, minced
1 tsp. garlic salt
1 tsp. black pepper
1 tsp. oregano
1 tsp. cumin seeds
¼ tsp. crushed red pepper
1 tsp. oregano
1 tsp. basil
1 red or yellow bell pepper, chopped
1 Anaheim chili pepper, chopped
1 tbsp. chili powder
1 tsp. cayenne pepper, ground
1 square unsweetened chocolate
1 15 oz. can crushed tomatoes
1 15 oz. can tomato sauce
2 6 oz. cans tomato paste
1 to ½ cup strong coffee
Brown the meat, onions, peppers and garlic, then drain the fat. Place in large Dutch oven or saucepan and add remaining ingredients; add more tomato sauce or coffee if it’s too thick. Simmer for 1 ½ to 2 hours.
by Tamra M. Bolton
