Wild Chives

There was a moment about a month or so ago - perhaps a little more than that - when my world was suddenly coming apart at the seams, or so it felt to me. Which sounds overly-dramatic in a "hand on the forehead diva in an MGM movie" sort of way, but it felt very true at the time. I had managed for several months to put off my life, in effect, to focus on a job, and then it ended and other "BIG DRAMATIC EVENTS!" occured all at once. Or maybe it was only my worry that made it so, but it was enough to send me out of the house, into the front yard in tears. I was going mad, completely insane, and this time, this time, I was absolutely certain of it.

Then I saw, for the first time this spring, the various clumps of wild chives that had sprouted up on lawn. When had this happened, and how had I not noticed this yet? While I was busy working and doing terribly "important" things, the chives had been going about their own business of simply being, without any help from me whatsoever.

I pulled up a piece and chewed it, appreciating the bitter grassy/oniony flavor on my tongue, and remembering that I did have a bit of cilantro in the kitchen, sitting in a drinking glass on the windowsill. What would the two taste like together gently simmered in that chicken broth I also had waiting, perhaps with some matchstick carrots and other thinly sliced vegetables?

I have plans for you, I thought, and suddenly tears and fears were banished alike. Not forever, mind, perhaps not even for 24 hours, but for one moment at least I was happy and full of questions and anticipation, and that was enough. Enough to get me to start thinking about making dinner that night, which turned out to be filling and satisfying on my than one level. Enough to get me excited about making granola in time to have for breakfast, scented of coriander as I pulled two trays of it from the oven. Enough.

In the past year, food and cooking have become for me something other than a chore; in the kitchen I've discovered a place where I can be calm and centered and useful. What was once a chore for me has become more than that - it's not the activity but the attention to it that's the thing for me. It becomes a prayer, a meditation, an act of lovemaking. It also becomes an artist's canvas, a scientist's laboratory and something of a child's sandlot, where experiments and messes are allowed and even encouraged, while occasional failures are tolerated without shame.

Even though I may feel still, at times, as though I am going insane, there's still dinner to cook and a wild herbs to gather or to simply notice, and it's ok to put the insanity - mine or the world's - aside for a few minutes, not worry about where the next dollar is coming from, and find real happiness in moments like that.