a mission

I have started several "essays" that get my juices flowing.  I am eager to continue, but the threads of thought tend to weave amongst these writings, and want to intermingle.  I apparently cannot write separately about "why I must garden" from "what I must grow" or "what I cook" or "who taught me or inspired me" or by the way, why it's important to share this.

Today's realization is that there are lots of folks like me, who take supreme pleasure in nurturing the earth, reaping her bounty, and sharing with others.  It occurs to me that many more would achieve awesome satisfaction when an impluse (gardening just because you enjoy it) becomes a tangible manifestation of who you are.  (This takes me back to an earlier note that identifies one's garden as autobiographical).

I've been cruising the web for people who garden with such intent.  It's not so easy to describe.  I'd like to document the influences that motivate us to grow what we do.  I have begun to focus squarely on African American gardeners, since this is what I am viscerally connected to.  What I've found so far are interesting papers and blogs on the historical connections we have to our heritage in broad terms, mostly food or medicinals, scholarly and interesting, but not the individual stories that make up the whole.  I suspect that the places I want to go in my mission is directly connected to personal experiences...not only the fact that crowder peas came on the slave ships, but which crowder pea cultivar did my Gramma Annis plant on her farm in North Carolina, when did she plant it, harvest it and cook it, and...whether or not I can find the seed, grow it, and make jambalaya with it all the way out here in Portland Oregon!

My granddaughter requested my gumbo for her birthday party.  Thirty people got to taste it, and marvel at the complexity and savory experience.  Then we recorded the recipe together for her Mother's Day cookbook gift to her mother.   There is so much more in that pot than the ingredients...although the thyme, bay leaves, parsley and sassafras will come from my garden, my mission is to record the essence of the pot, not only the ingredients.  The history that made it, as well as the hands that prepare it.  

There are many African American cookbooks out there, but I want to write from the gardener's perspective...and not just about edibles.  Mama Prince's mother had some amazing dutch iris beds...what did she do to make them so fine?  Mama Prince is still here to tell me.