Christy and Chloe reflect on the season and talk about what’s next. Make sure to check back while we take a rest from shows for ongoing reads and links on the blog!
Enjoy the best of summer cherry tomatoes with this bruschetta recipe.
More about Rev. Mariama White-Hammond:
Her speaking engagements
Her racial bridge-building work in Boston:
Her Facebook page:
Two excellent climate justice organizations we’re excited about (among so many!): Sunrisemovement.org and Boston-based Mothers Out Front (we mentioned our friend Yani Burgos, who is a former organizer for MOF)
Check out the article by Deepa Iyer we referenced about gifts & the social change ecosystem. What roles do you play?
Abraham Heschel’s The Sabbath
This Changes Everything by Naomi Klein
Chloe, Christy, and Eva chat about their latest reads.
Check out this post from The First Mess for three delightful takes on iced tea to sip while you read this summer.
An organization addressing childhood hunger by empowering families to make meals together @ http://cookingmatters.org/
One person who is confronting diet culture @ https://christyharrison.com/foodpsych
Want some inspiration for eating with loved ones? @ https://thefamilydinnerproject.org/
Eva just read Eat to Love by Jenna Hollenstein
Chloe is working on Out of the House of Bread: Satisfying Your Hunger for God with the Spiritual Disciplines by Preston Yancey and pondering Little Free Food Pantries with thoughts from here and here
tomatoes gather on the counter
and crown thick slabs of toast.
My feet walk across scorched cement
I bend and reach for the long snake.
A conduit of life for the wilting leaves
I turn on the water and the hose spews forth
my mind melts with the rest of the flowers.
My focus flees
my appetite goes on vacation.
I delight in cups of cold blueberries
and hot coffee:
trying to welcome the heat of the day and obey the heat of the clock.
I am grateful for the sun’s nearness
and barbecued pizza divided under a smudge of stars
and midnight blue skies.
And orange or yellow butterflies.
And time is one of those ambiguous things,
a welcomed friend who carries with them the promise of seasons
a talker who won’t slow their speech, rushing on and on
a beloved who goes too soon
a guest who brings tortilla soup and some tomatoes from her raised bed
and who leaves before the night turns to morning.
In this special intergenerational episode, Chloe explores the sacred role food plays to connect us with each other across the passing of time.
Maple-Poached Eggs (reprinted from Casey Elsass’ recipe on Food52)
1 cup maple syrup
Toast and butter
In a small saucepan, bring maple syrup to a boil, then lower to a simmer. Crack the eggs into the syrup, kindly now! Let be for 3 minutes. Spoon some of the syrup over the eggs so they stay sweet.
Place each poached egg into a small dish with a slotted spoon. Drizzle with some syrup. Eat!
On honoring our cooking mentors, and a thing called “grandma cooking” @ https://food52.com/blog/20620-why-should-we-cook-like-a-grandma or https://www.amazon.com/Kitchens-Great-Midwest-Ryan-Stradal/dp/0143109413
Sometimes, recipes from our loved ones, or lack thereof, are tied with our pain @ https://www.huffpost.com/entry/grandma-cooking_b_2689305
Lots of people are learning from Paula Wolfort, who is using her relationship with food to confront dementia @ https://www.yesmagazine.org/issues/good-money/for-cookbook-author-food-is-an-ally-against-dementia-20190114
How millennials are shaping food trends in the United States @ https://www.washingtonpost.com/lifestyle/wellness/9-ways-millennials-are-changing-the-way-we-eat/2018/02/20/6bb2fe60-11eb-11e8-8ea1-c1d91fcec3fe_story.html?noredirect=on&utm_term=.a95bed7e3978
If you’re feeling courageous and want to make that meat pie, start here! @ https://www.kingarthurflour.com/recipes/christmas-tourtiere-recipe
And just for fun, a list of food-related children’s books @ https://www.foodandwine.com/lifestyle/books/childrens-food-books
I wrote this last year (June 2018) in my personal blog in the midst of midsummer gardening. Its lessons still hold true for me.
My husband Chris and I joined a community garden earlier this spring. We paid a fee that covers a year of “rent” for a plot at the garden of White Rock United Methodist Church, one of Dallas’ most community-oriented churches. After my varied experiences dabbling in urban farming, gardening on windowsills/patios, and gardening small plots or spaces with church communities, it feels right to finally have a plot of dirt that is solely my (and Chris’) responsibility to care for. Caring for this little slice of creation in concert with the sun, wind, rain, and occasional “dialogues” with insects who compete for food is a kind of messy spiritual practice for me. Sometimes it’s serene. Sometimes it’s hot and sweaty and frustrating.
Like many folks I know who have been shaped by American cultural values about performing and achieving well, I have struggled with perfectionism since childhood. According to stories told by my mother, I spent many a moment in tearful fits of frustration when learning to tie my shoes. As an infant, I took two years–well beyond the average for most babies– to fully walk because I was afraid to fall or bump into things. Similar reactions happened when practicing for piano lessons in elementary and junior high school: if I couldn’t play something at least decently the second or third time after cracking open a new piece of music, I would often slam my hands on the piano and walk away in self-defeat.
Rather than moments of anger at not getting something correct the first time–though this certainly still occurs, my perfectionism since childhood often manifests more in attempts to control a situation or even a person with unreasonable or not-so-compassionate standards, or kinds of “organizational modes” where I try and plan my way out of feeling anxious about the unknown. If I’m being honest, sometimes a very patient Chris becomes the person caught in the line of fire, in the midst of the rawness that marriage can bring forth in me as I navigate my own “stuff.”
Toward my own self, perfectionism looks like subtle internal messages of “not enough”: in my relationships with work; with “life maintenance” activities like cleaning, cooking, financial management, etc.; as I work on the part of me that is an activist, attempting to respond to what I see going on in the world; and most quietly but perhaps most sharply, in my relationship with my body.
Interestingly and paradoxically enough, I currently work as a chaplain in my day-to-day living, which requires my commitment to developing a posture of care that embraces a whole lot of imperfection.
I visit with people whose bodies are imperfect and whom are deeply shaped by imperfect decisions, relationships with family, and imperfect or, in many cases, downright unjust and neglectful structures of society that affect one’s ability to live a truly whole and healthy life. One of the hardest realities of my job, driven home during weekly reflection and seminar periods with my fellow chaplains-in-training, is knowing that not only can I not fix the circumstances of the patients I interact with, but it is not my job nor is it a very compassionate thing to even want to fix someone else. I recall a well-known quote from Parker Palmer’s The Courage to Teach: “The human soul does not want to be fixed, it wants simply to be seen and heard.”
Circle back to the garden. In mid-March, Chris and I enthusiastically prepped the soil, purchased tomato, eggplant, pepper and other summer garden staple plants, and planted them alongside some of the seedlings we grew ourselves on our apartment patio. We watered and cared for these seedlings like babies, occasionally squealing with delight (ok, I did most of the squealing) as we watched them grow from buried seeds to sprouts between February and March. As the spring season carried on, we made weekly trips to the plot to weed, water, and watch the magic happen as the plants grew larger, spicy and sweet radishes were harvested and added to salads and tacos, strawberries began to pop out of their flowers, and the squash plants extended their green stems outward like yogis of the soil.
Since the recent onset of longer and hotter Texas summer days, however, the plot is starting to look a little less… put together. Squash bugs have chewed many of the leaves on the squash plants despite using diatomaceous earth, a natural pesticide, and attempting to squash (no cheesy garden pun intended) whatever eggs we could find. The tomato plants have crowded each other a bit. The radishes are done, and the strawberries have mostly fried from the sun’s intensity. It’s easy to feel like a crappy gardener when I stand next to it.
I see a dance we all dance, between different responses when caring for imperfect beings or imperfect natural spaces like the garden. On the one hand, it’s critically important to respond with care plans or actions that address and tend to the wounds that others and ourselves inevitably carry because of our varied circumstances. In the garden, if Chris and I we didn’t water or mulch; if we didn’t do our best to get rid of the bugs (or at least attempt some sort of a compromise), or didn’t help the plants grow in a direction that reaches the light, we would not be doing our part to support their flourishing. In my work in the hospital, If I didn’t advocate for patients who feel alienated by diagnoses they don’t understand, or who are chronically ill because they live in cities whose political and social leaders do not invest in health in the ways that they need to, or remind a doctor to inform a person of their loved one’s death with more gentleness, I would not be a good chaplain. I’d be an awful one, in fact.
But I’m also increasingly aware that I must also balance my “interventions” with humility, with letting go, and without losing sight of the divine ability that created beings including folks in the hospital and gardens already contain within them. Despite all of my efforts to control what’s happening, the plants or the people are going to do what they do, in response to the sometimes natural and sometimes not so natural processes going on within and around them. I think we sometimes have to trust that they and we will use our God-given power and internal resources to bring about greater clarity, justice, hope, and even healing. Still, even as I share this, I must admit that I often find this a maddening truth to accept. There is so much in this world that merits–no, demands–our faithful response. And yet, we cannot do or be all of it.
I think you see where I’m going with this. There may not be an exact parallel of “imperfect garden, imperfect self” that I’m attempting to draw on here, and perhaps some of you reading find yourself further down one side or the other of this metaphorical scale. But the more I care for this little piece of earth I’ve been entrusted and the longer I learn how to care for myself, those around me, those I dislike, and the world to which I am called to partner in transforming, the more I learn the necessity of a shift. This shift looks like a shift away from a striving for perfection that looks like something without flaw, to more of a kind of perfection that acknowledges and strives for all of creation to live into its flourishing and fullness in the midst of flaw. For me, it means loving myself through the tears of frustration; loving my body even as I try and care for it with more mindfulness; loving the patients I support even when I can’t fix the insurmountable hardships that they often have to cope with; and yes, the small acts of loving and caring for my squash plants, green beans, and strawberries even when their leaves are yellow, crispy, or covered with bugs.
This dance we dance, swaying this way to respond with necessary urgent care and that way to step back, listen and trust– I pray that it transforms us. As it does its hard but necessary and revealing work on me and in my life, I bow in gratitude to the soil, the vegetables, the patients, and my fellow human sojourners who show me what it means to tell the truth, to love more deeply, and to strive to become the person I am created to be, however flawed.
P.S. To follow along with more of my blogs, check out englertel.blogspot.com.
Chloe, Christy, and Eva discuss what it means to preserve time in terms of food and memories with a generous helping of laughter on the side.
Mixed Berry Jam – reprinted from Ball Home Canning
4 cups crushed berries (mix and match your favorites such as strawberries, blueberries, blackberries, and/or raspberries)
4 1/2 TBSP Ball RealFruit Classic Pectin
3 cups sugar
- Prepare boiling water canner. Heat jars in simmering water until ready for use. Do not boil. Wash lids in warm soapy water and set bands aside.
- Combine berries in an 8-quart saucepan. Gradually stir in pectin. Bring mixture to a full rolling boil that cannot be stirred down, over high heat, stirring constantly.
- Add entire measure of sugar, stirring to dissolve. Return mixture to a full rolling boil. Boil hard 1 minute, stirring constantly. Remove from heat. Skim foam, if necessary.
- Ladle hot jam into hot jars, one at a time, leaving 1/4 inch headspace. Wipe rims. Center lids on jars. Apply bands and adjust to fingertip tight.
- Ladle filled jars in canner ensuring jars are covered by 1 to 2 inches of water. Place lid on canner. Bring water to gentle, steady boil.
- Process jars for 10 minutes, adjusting for altitude. Turn off heat, remove lid and let jars stand for 5 minutes. Remove jars and cool. Check lids for seal after 24 hours. Lids should not flex up and down when center is pressed.
*If you choose not to use the canning method above, eliminate steps 1 and 4 through 6. Instead, allow hot jam to cool slightly in saucepan, then ladle into small plastic containers suitable for the freezer, tightly seal with lids, and freeze. Frozen jam should last about six months to one year in the freezer.
Learn how to brew your own kombucha with Brad from Bon Appetit!
How food preservation defines United States Southern culture @ https://www.southernkitchen.com/articles/eat/food-preservation-how-it-started-and-how-it-became-southern
And, the Story of Miso
Wild Fermentation: The Flavor, Nutrition, and Craft of Live-Culture Foods by Sandor Ellix Katz
The Noma Guide to Fermentation by René Redzepi and David Zilber
*We weren’t quite correct in our assumption regarding the production of alcohol during yeast/bacterial fermentation. For more information, check out what Bon Appetit has to say about it here: https://www.bonappetit.com/story/does-kombucha-have-caffeine