The Constant Companionship of Alliums
Alliums aren't demanding, but exist to bring me hope, offer increased depth to a winter meal, or just to bring about tears when we didn’t even know we needed them that day.
Right after Thanksgiving, I planted the garlic in the ground. I barely hit the mark on it. When I say barely, I mean that part of the ground was frozen as I dropped one clove and then another while the chickens pecked around me, happy to have access to the soil beneath us again. I would try one spot with my trowel and find it solid, then hope the next stab would be loose until I found a good spot. My fingers were nearly frozen in my goat skin gloves, so I made it through the last row by turning on Taylor Swift to keep me moving. There was a deep sense of gratitude, so I did a little dance amongst the chickens.
I planted five varieties this year (Chesnock Red, Pehoski Purple, Inchellium Red, Metechi, and Music for any curious minds) with an image on my phone indicating their locations beside a note I have with the color organization key. It’s a deeply scientific way I keep things organized in the garden rows, as you can tell. Follow me for more brilliant ways of organizing your garden.
As I was breaking up the cloves and putting them into the ground, I realized how constantly my life as a gardener is connected with these alliums. Not just garlic, but onions, chives, leeks, etc. They are with me every single season if not every day of my life. I noted this proximity of our existence at that moment as I plopped the last of the cloves into the ground just hours before a snowstorm swooped in. I couldn’t shake how often I have taken these little pungent friends for granted most of my life.
I start the first allium seeds in January and trim them once they get too wirey. Their first strands make wonderful decor for the precious eggs from the chickens who are just starting to lay again that time of year. In February, their growth tells me when to start other things like peppers. Then I sow the first green onions in March under a row of cover as I watch the first few sprouts of the garlic begin to sprout by the end of the month under the straw and leaves. They offer hope in these cold days. Hope that things grow despite the challenges that lie before us.
The magic that exists in the cellular layers of an onion is something to be revered, honored, and respected, yet all these years, I realize these friends of mine have just been taken for granted.
The alliums then in April through the first sight of summer will act as my best friends in keeping away the cabbage moths from my kale and brassicas early in the season before any flowers are even a thought in my mind to enter the soil. The chives begin to green and blossom before anything else in the garden. In the height of summer, I will pull the garlic, and it will begin the ongoing scent of onions attached to my skin for the foreseeable days of harvesting and processing.
There is no doubt that they have kept me company from the first sight of the soil until now as I stand in the kitchen with a basket of them in my drawer to be used for many days of soup and slow-cooked meals this winter.
The red ones are to slow cook with apples and cabbage to serve with potatoes, or the white “UFO-shaped ones” (as Mike calls them) are to be slowly sauteed and added to a salad dressing. The list goes on. The magic that exists in the cellular layers of an onion is something to be revered, honored, and respected, yet all these years, I realize these friends of mine have just been taken for granted.
I had mentioned around Thanksgiving in my newsletter how my dad had said at the dinner table he was thankful for all the things he takes for granted. I haven’t stopped thinking about that in relation to so many aspects of my life. This meditative thought has led me to see this about the alliums I am with every day, whether in the kitchen or the garden. They are there, not demanding, but existing to bring me hope, offer increased depth to a winter meal, or just bring about tears when I didn’t even know I needed them that day.
So often, we miss the joys of these things in our life. The things that bring a subtle beauty to our lives so routinely that they become just part of the landscape instead of a distinct and magical part of what makes life amazing. They become easy to glaze over because they have always been there. Now, to imagine for an instant a life without them is absurd and would be utterly lacking, particularly on these cold and darker days that bring an alluring and calming way to end the day as the snow falls or we dream of it doing so.
So tonight, holding this sweet storage onion from our CSA this week, I am reminded of their unconditional and constant companionship in my life. Something about finding that sort of joy in the littlest things that actually are rather big in their place in my life begins a string of gratitude in this season when it feels much is receding under the snow and decay needed to begin again.
I am writing below about cooking with onions/leeks, one of my favorite winter practices that I find deep comfort and enjoyment in the closer we draw to the shortest day of the year.
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12/8 Reflection- Potato and Leek Soup
I can smell the scents of the sweating leeks now as I pull all the ingredients from the cupboard to make potato and leek soup in our kitchen. I grab the pot from the drawer. It’s a white Le Creuset that I love and have had for nearly a decade. I love it because I can see when the golden brown bits begin to form from the onions, which means it is time to deglaze the pan. The rhythm of when to do things is told to me not by the words in a recipe but by the chemistry of heat and veggies coming together. Reminding me that cooking is as much about intuition as it is about skill.
In the summer, we forget the beauty of cooking slow and warm meals made of simpler ingredients. In these months, there is a mystical conjuring cooking entails in order to extract the flavors from these veggies that have seen the bite of the cold and are better for it. We must be intentional with these cooking routines that bring a rich and flavorful meal to life when the snow is coming down and the garden has fallen to sleep.
In these cold months, we no longer can lean on the brightness of fresh basil or the acidic earthy bite of a tomato straight from the branches we have cared for since April that year. In those months, everything was here except the need to work magic with heat and the limited options of late fall/early winter produce. There is a pressure to cooking in the height of summer’s abundance that is both life-giving and overwhelming at times as a gardener.
But now, well, that is long gone. My counter is no longer a sea of red from the tomatoes and covered in herbs needing drying. The scents have changed, and it’s time to warm up my cooking skills that root back to the basics of the best things in life: onions and garlic being awakened, caramelized, and degraded by heat.
The rhythm of when to do things is told to me not by the words in a recipe but by the chemistry of heat and veggies coming together. Reminding me that cooking is as much about intuition as it is about skill.
Alliums are the veggies that never leave us gardeners. Usually, our hands will smell of them in the hot months of July and August despite washing and removing the dirt as best we can from beneath our nails. The scent sticks to us like the tar of the tomatoes we prune, and the astringent scent of the basil lingers in the dirt and won’t leave us despite trying. They are always with us, whether in storage or in the soil we tend. I have come to love and find it endearing that they are a constant companion in my life.
So here I am again, standing over that pot, letting it heat up while my hands float above to warm with the pot on this cold evening. Once the heat is right, I splash in olive oil after chopping the leeks into tiny circles. The pan cannot be too hot, or it will burn them. It cannot be too cold, or its magnificent flavor won’t extract properly.
The leeks begin to brown lightly in the pan and succumb to the heat. Before adding the potatoes, the garlic goes in. The garlic that I kept for eating, not for growing. The scent of earth and sauteed alliums wafts in the air as my beeswax candle flickers on the counter near me. I deglaze the pan with homemade broth from previous scraps from cooking the last few weeks. The browned parts are full of the sweetness of the alliums that will add depth to this simple soup as they are removed and brought into the broth. Finally, the potatoes go in in all their waxy goodness. We could debate whether waxy or starchy ones are best here, but I prefer to split the difference and do a mix.
I then add a sprig of thyme, some sage, and the last of the rosemary that was still left even after a snow. All herbs gathered by quickly slipping on snow boots to head to the kitchen garden, untucking them in the dark from beneath the snow. Finally, a good salting is given, and the lid goes on to let the mix of heat and flavors meld into something simple but satisfying.
Once it all has cooked, I realize the magic that can happen from a few simple things. I am reminded again by the earth that it isn’t about how much we have in life but how we treat it that makes it beautiful and life-giving.
Enjoying that soup with bread on a cold night fills the house with the scent of those alliums we use to protect our garden from many bugs and pests all year. Eating them now in this intentional and slow way feels it gives them respect and gratitude for the work they did when we began the year. They serve us in so many ways, and I realize that the company of a good allium is the kind of company to keep.
How to Celebrate Winter Solstice - Family Edition
Today, I am continuing the conversation around Winter Solstice celebrations. Today I am discussing ways to celebrate with your kids if you have them. These can be used with adults, too, but I think they are fun things to add to the mix.
Reminder: Don’t do all this. Just do what feels right and good for you in your current season of life. These are simply ideas.
Winter Solstice Activities:
Lantern walk at dusk. We take a rechargeable LED lantern and a sled and wander through the woods if it is snowy. This is really cool to do. Along the way, we enjoy the quiet and stillness in the woods. Taking moments for silence in reverence of the pines.
Light candles in the house and keep lights low. It feels cozy and honors the darkness of the year's longest night.
Make a simple meal like a potato leek soup or something your family enjoys that involves local veggies or things saved from the season prior. Some friends make spaghetti, all made from what they saved from their garden, for instance.
Cook an olive oil and citrus cake. The kids know it is Winter Solstice when we have the “glazed cake.”
Have a fire outside with family and friends
Sauna or warm by the fire together and play a favorite game
Talk about what we will not carry with us back into the light
Books to Read for Winter Solstice:
The Shortest Day by Susan Cooper - I cry every single time!
The Sun Egg by Elsa Beskow
On the Shortest Day by Laura Sulentich Fredrickson
Next week, I will share how to throw a great adult Winter Solstice party if you are interested. Please share any other meaningful things you do for Winter Solstice and Yule celebrations below.
Here are the things this week that I have been holding at the top of my mind and enjoying right now. Feel free to comment below anything you also love! I would love to hear in the comments. You all usually have some amazing things.
Eating: We got some French Breakfast radishes in our CSA this last week from Loma Farm, and I immediately cut the fresh tops off and threw them in the food processor with olive oil, walnuts, salt, garlic, and lemon juice to make a pesto. I had it saved in the jar before I even put away the rest of the veggies. It has been the base for every dressing since then and has also topped the potato leek soup this week. Never underestimate a great pesto.
Harvesting: I went out this week and gathered some onions I had in the garage. Not sure that counts as a harvest, but they were cold stored out there, and I brought them out and felt immense gratitude for saving these things from summer that still tasted of the soil that feeds us even in these cold months.
Wearing: I lost my favorite hat last year when one of the kids wore it outside and left it in a snow fort. I found it in the spring when the snow melted, and it had been donated to a mouse family in the grasses by our home. Sadly, I am okay with that, but I needed to replace it. I ended up with a super soft neutral new beanie that is so soft and nice; I got it locally, but here is something similar I would have considered. I am hoping this one sticks around for many years and doesn’t become a home for any wild neighbors around us.
Excited About: Every year, I buy a new notebook. It sounds super simple, but I live for a blank notebook every year. I go through one every season, actually, and I have them for all sorts of things, but notebooks are deeply meaningful to me since I prefer handwriting many things in my life.
Doing: I have been in the middle of attending (online) the Savanna Institutes’ Agroforestry Conference with the rest of my Carbon Farming Cohort, and I loved the talk with Dr. Robin Wall Kimmerer and learning more about building regenerative and resilient forest systems to both grow food and work with the ecosystem in a way that strengthens the connection between human and plant even more. Very inspired and have a slew of little light bulbs in that new notebook I got.
You know I believe in shopping locally; if you live in Michigan, this gift guide from Taste the Local Difference is a must for looking for gifts this year. They asked me to share it with you guys, and I was happy to because so many of the companies are our neighbors and are hard-working individuals who believe in caring for the land we call home. Check out all they are making. Taste the Local Difference is an important part of helping us connect to makers/doers/farmers/land stewards in Michigan.
This week, I also shared these posts for subscribers:
How to Pay Attention This Week - Watching the Nuances of the Snow/Ice/Rain
The Uninfluenced Holiday - Wow, you guys blew me away on how much you loved this piece. I had texts from close friends and many DMs as well. I was pretty blown away because this was a piece I sat on for a while.
Gliding Into December - Last week’s free newsletter
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Megan, this line is so good! “They are there, not demanding, but existing to bring me hope, offer increased depth to a winter meal, or just bring about tears when I didn’t even know I needed them that day.” I will never think of crying when cutting onions the same way anymore. They are now there to help me heal or feel alive again!