The Harvest Continues

In addition to the usual plethora of cucumbers and summer squash, and the immense zucchini we’ve compared to baseball bats, the butternut squash is now ripening. We will use that in many dishes throughout the fall and winter. In fact, odds are we’ll be tired of it by January, but for now it’s an exciting addition to the bounty coming from the garden. The tomatoes are also starting to turn orange and you know what that means – fresh salsa time!

Two weeks ago, we gave some zucchini to a neighbor and only a few days later, he gave us half a loaf of the most delicious zucchini bread ever. We’ve also shared zucchini with our other neighbors and I’ve brought several cucumbers to work for people to take, if they so choose. In exchange for this sharing, we received sweet corn from another neighbor.

This is, to me, one of the joys of living in a rural area. The work we do is cooperative. As you know, our workshop didn’t build itself. One of our neighbors helped with the work of spreading and screeding the concrete, and framing the walls. Everyone along our quiet, rural street grows tomatoes and cucumbers, but not everyone grows zucchini or butternut squash or corn, so we’ve been able to share our harvest.

Harvest remains a material activity. For some, it might be in the realm of personal growth and development, but it’s a very physical thing when you work with the earth to sustain yourself. I have always lived in comfortable harmony with the seasons and gardening for both pleasure and food deepens that connection.

Fall is well on its way and I am looking forward to shorter, cooler days, colorful leaves, decorating for Halloween, and eating just a little too much butternut squash.

More about Wendy

Wendy is a Pagan city hippie living in the country. She is also a genealogist, writer, gamer, Pagan, and one of the authors of "Steampunk for Simpletons."A college town New Englander turned one-horse town Nebraskan, she raises a cup of Dunkies to life among cornfields and coyotes. She is still pleasantly surprised that amber waves of grain exist, and has declared the Midwestern prairies "wicked cool."

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