Fresh from Wellspring Charitable Gardens - November 30, 2023

Fresh Today… Purple (Graffiti) Cauliflower, Carrots, Rutabagas, Sugar Snap Peas, Beets, Delicata & Butternut Squash, Red Butterhead Lettuce, Kale, Peppers, Green Onions, Rosemary, Cilantro, Persimmons & Pomegranates

Using your Produce… by Julie Moreno.

This week we’ll have rutabagas coming. This root vegetable is a cross between turnips and wild cabbage that was first recorded in the 1600’s in Sweden. In much of Europe the rutabaga is typically boiled and mashed with butter. They can be substituted for potatoes in soups and stews. And just like a potato they can be sliced into chips and fried or cut and roasted or even baked whole and served with butter. The outside peel can be bitter, so if that bothers you, try peeling off an extra outer layer. I like to season them generously with spices or herbs, but you might enjoy this sautéed recipe sweetened with honey.

Lemon Glazed

Rutabagas and Carrots

2-3 rutabagas

1-2 large carrots

1 tablespoon butter

½ teaspoon salt

¼ cup water

zest and juice from 1 lemon

1 tablespoon honey

2 tablespoons fresh herbs, parsley, cilantro or dill

* Peel the rutabagas and slice into bite sized pieces.Peel the carrots if desired and slice on the bias into thin ¼ inch slices.In a large sauté pan with a lid cook the rutabagas and carrots over medium-high heat in the butter, salt and water, with the lid on. Stir occasionally until crisp-tender (basically slightly undercooked) about 5-7 minutes. Remove the lid and let any remaining water evaporate. Add the lemon juice, zest and honey. Cook over medium heat, stirring gently, until the lemon juice has evaporated, and a glaze is formed. Stir in the herbs and season with salt and black pepper if needed.

“Hail, Subscriber, those who are about to eat salute you!”

We hope you enjoyed a delightful Thanksgiving celebration with your family and friends. Now that the Turkey Gobbler’s 42K Marathon (which is gross weight gained, not kilometers) is over, we have a mere sprint to Christmas, which will be rather challenging for us who have stuffed ourselves like a turkey! Oh well, please pass the gravy and mashed! We are now in training for the Gingerbread Open, the Christmas Cookie Consumer’s Cup competition, and will be off from garden duty on Dec. 21 & 28. We resume deliveries January 4. Meantime, please pass the eggnog; I have a training Ginger Snap stuck in my throat.

Sugar Snap Peas…

Our late fall harvest of sugar snap peas has been a treat. I try to spend a few minutes removing the stem and strings before storing them in the fridge, so that I have them on hand for a quick snack. If you prefer to cook them, keep it quick with a 1-to-2-minute trip through boiling water or a flash stir fry in a hot pan, like this lemony sauté calls for.

Simply Sautéed Sugar Snap Peas

1 Tbsp olive or avocado oil

8 ounces sugar snap peas, 2-3 cups

¼ teaspoon salt and black pepper

2 tsp lemon zest

2 teaspoons lemon juice

Rinse and dry the snap peas and remove the tips and any strings that come off with them. Heat the oil in a large skillet over medium-high heat. When the oil is hot, add the snap peas and cook for 2-3 minutes, stirring constantly until the peas are bright green in color Remove from the heat and season with salt, pepper, lemon zest, and juice

Metaphors of Soil and Soil…

Zest for Life

by Ronda May Melendez

& Keith F Martin

A protective rind surrounds the fresh lemon resting in my left palm. My right-hand raises and readies a zester to slice away just the desirable outer peel while avoiding the bitter pith beneath. Circular blades slice desirable yellow ribbons of peel from its surface. Oil mists up and gathers to rise aloft in a lemony cloud. They tickle, then burn, my nose. Long, thin threads of peel fall in curls onto the cutting board below. Their fragrance is pungent, vibrant, enticing. I look forward to the tasty tang the zest will add to my sautéed snap peas. Yet, I am keenly aware that the lemon is being deconstructed at every draw of the sharp tool. Its offering of fragrance and flavor to my meal comes at great expense. The lemon will never be the same again, but there is value and purpose in its sacrifice.

It occurs to me that we are so often like a lemon in the hand of God. He holds us securely, it is true, but often allows the sharpened rasps of others to penetrate to the more delicate flesh of our lives. Those instruments may at times cut too deeply and expose the tender flesh of our hearts and minds, leaving us pain in place of the zest removed. I ponder what my life produces when their rasp tears through and removes more than my desirable peel. Do I still, like the lemon, offer something fragrant and enticing, or does my hurt - like pith - make the zest bitter? What delicate threads of insight or strands of perspective or ribbons of character may have fallen untainted to the cutting board surface? Will others still find the zest fragrant and flavorful, despite the pain it cost in the offering?

I do believe so, even if I burn a few noses in the expression of my life. I trust that God holds me securely in His hand and allows my life to be rasped for the benefit and well-being of others. He will show them how to use those delicate, fragrant fallen strands to add depth and enticing flavor to their lives.

“But thanks be to God, who always leads us in triumph in Christ, and manifests through us the sweet aroma of the knowledge of Him in every place.” 2 Corinthians 2:14