Eat the Outdoors
Feastfully
Don’t make processed mistakes
Properly soil your plates
Eat the outdoors
Eagerly
Edibly
Natural chow
WOWzing
Salivately spirited
Don’t eat anything that your great-great-grandmother wouldn’t recognize as food. ~The New York Times magazine article 28 January 2007 by Michael Pollan
Grown from the ground or on your own is an ongoing quality body audit. Hands down, homemade is the way to slay better nutrition. This quarter of the year always executes both a bolstering of my flair for forageous fare and where it all springs from. I’m a rather customary winter hibernator type who manufactures a lot of apologies to herself for any added padding come the beginning of our sunnier seasoning. Commonly, my weight has continued its rollercoastering due to this erratic annual gain to hoped loss cycling. I’m just never sure if I’m gonna be able to remove all that my doctors and I desire for me. Getting up in my aging numbers hasn’t helped either. Even though I still ‘feel’ my youthful self buried beneath my pudgier parts, the mirrors and scales don’t lie. Yet, I want the best for ‘her’. She, and each of us, is rewarded whenever we’re well nourished.
From our local to global communities, I believe that we need healthier communication about our cuisine origins. It’s incredulously seldom that I notice others thoroughly reviewing the labels of items before they buy grub they’ll later consume or feed to family and friends. I’ll readily confess that I’m not impressed with how easily I’ve slipped into the stereotypical system of grocery stores, takeout, and relying on restaurant dining as alternatives to pulling my meals directly from the land. Instead, I’d prefer the perfect retrospect of my near-daily COVID-era farm-to-table devouring. The first and last time that I ever had a backyard supermarket. Gratefully parked on my cousins’ property, I got to watch as it was tilled while I isolated in quarantine to be safe, which became our fresh gobbling options. Dozens of rows upon the two acres plus an orchard of fruit trees dotting the fertile premises.
Mother Earth will make you strong ~Garden Song by Arlo Guthrie & Pete Seeger
Quarantine began as a dreamier space for me than most due to my verdurous vicinity. It remains the paragon I pine for a longer term. Mimicking my latter adulting where I’ve sworn that if money weren’t the barrier, I would know how to parse a plentiful supply of the cleanest, organically ‘greenest’ palate henceforth. Equally, I have bushels of fond relics from my younger kiddo days stored in my thoughts. Those brambly brawling unbridled blackberries feuding with the teeny wild strawberries for my mouthwatering lickety-splitness. Our country town Chapin neighbor Barbara Bauknight’s jumbo tomatoes the size of her you-can-guess-what’s, coupled by her juicy peaches that created the best artisanally churned ice cream I’ve ever had. Childishly delighted to be consistently doused with yummy treats, I’m infinitely looking to dish that in my here and now.
Although, because we can’t presume things are showing up in our favor, I’m earnestly interested if you evaluate how much you’re surviving inside some of your memories, the same as me. Especially when I find that anxious is bending me like Beckham’s balls, haha. Nothing against being present, but I sway hooray for happy flashbacks. They also lead me toward leaning into gastronomical gumption. Often, I try to think similar to the KonMari sparking joy tenet concerning such matters of morsels. Putting myself in the savory place of solely allowing ravishing repast. Bringing crops in lieu of crap inside of you. Investing in cooking what we harvest. Don’t simply witness roadside stands or be aware of farmers in your area, involve yourself with any of them. Become a frequent spender there more than elsewhere. My wish for everyone is to let an epicurean, no, today I’ll call it an “epicurious,” personality marinate.
Good grazing produces a tastier living.
