Do you fear food? I do. What a strange and sad thing to admit. But it's true. This new-found fear started a few months ago with a scrambled egg, of all things.
But I wasn't always afraid of food. In fact, if you know me, then you know that food-love factors largely into my life. I work at a food magazine. I attend my farmers’ market
religiously and seek out new food products and restaurants obsessively. I
bake. I cook. I feed. I eat. (Who doesn't?)
I grow an
herb garden and have a veritable relationship with my plants that
flavor so many of my meals. The old lavender who comes back year after
year—her roots are so deep and gnarled into the earth, I can count on
her steadfast loyalty. My rosemary is more fickle,
but I annually make room for him (or one of his kind) in the
garden—so special and unmatched is his flavor, I cannot resist. Fresh chives
season my salads from the first thaw to late into the fall.
Speaking of gardens, it was in the garden that I first developed my love
of food. Growing up, when there was nothing to eat in the cupboards, there were always sun-warmed cukes in the garden. My mother used to make crab-apple jelly from fruit-bearing trees in the yard. She'd bake up rhubarb crumble from the weeds growing out back. We picked black raspberries at our
next door’s neighbor Paul’s house. Paul was an old-timer Quebecois who didn’t
speak any English, but he had the most wonderfully overgrown berry
bushes that had taken root around an old rotting wood pile. Paul welcomed us to pick as many berries as we could and so we would, coming home hours later with stained fingers, scratches aplenty and sweet black raspberry grins.
I could go on an on about my food memories, but I won’t. We all have
food memories, don't we? Food is such a basic aspect of human life, but the culture of food, the experience of food, colors so
much of who we are as individuals.
*****
I tend to wax poetic about these things, but it's not all good stuff, is it?
I mean, too much food can caused sickness, obesity and disease. Too little can cause starvation or eating disorders. But I've always assumed the dangers of food to be largely human shortcomings. It's not the food that is the problem, it is the abuse of food that is the problem.
I always thought: everything in moderation, focus on fresh, wholesome, local ingredients and you should be okay.
But those naive assumptions were challenged one night last fall when I fed my 9-month old baby a scrambled egg (from my parents' darling hens, of course).
She broke out in hives.
It was a mild outbreak, but I was a new mother and it scared me. It was to be the first of several episodes of hives, so we finally met with a food allergy doctor to do a scratch test.
The egg test came back positive. My little baby girl was not yet a year and she already had an epi-pen.
It was a sad moment: how could she go through life without ever trying my farmer's market quiche or devouring an egg sandwich on the way to go snowboarding? But I was hanging on to this small ray of hope: the doctor said that egg allergies in small children are fairly common and that our girl might grow out of it. So I filed the diagnosis away in my mind as "not a real food allergy."
Even though, we have to carry an epi-pen, which is scary as hell.
*****
Two weeks ago, we had another episode. This time, it was so scary, we went to the ER. Later, after more testing, we discovered that Amelia might also have allergies to tree nuts and flax seeds. We're still waiting on the final tests results, but even now, days later, I'm feeling somewhat floored.
I mean, eggs, ok. But flax seeds? And nuts?
How could a food so natural and so wholesome as an almond cause a little person's body to self-destruct?
The epi-pen, Benedryl, Zyrtec, prick tests, blood tests, emergency medical plan and the ER—these are not the sorts of things I envisioned in our little girl's life. And certainly not in relation to food.
I want my daughter to be an explorer, to be able to extend her palate as far as her curiosity can take her. But how can you feel a sense of freedom and excitement and curiosity when trying something new carries the risk that your body will reject it?
*****
I still do love food, of course. And so does my daughter. I realized this tonight as she was chowing down on flatbread with sun-roasted tomatoes, garlic scapes and oyster mushrooms.
And I'm trying to use our new reality as an excuse to actually expand our food horizons. But I will never look at food again in such a rose-colored way as I did before.
Thursday, May 23, 2013
Sunday, April 07, 2013
free as a bird
Last Friday, I went to my yoga class as I usually do Fridays at lunch. At the studio, there is a bowl of intentions. If you want, you can take a card out of the bowl and use the word written on the card to help you focus during your yoga practice. I don't usually pick a word. I am filled to the brim with words enough as it is. But on this particular day, on a whim, I decided to draw a word out of the bowl. I turned over the card to read it. The word was, "free."
"Free. That is a good word for me today," I said to the woman at the desk. "That feels about right." It did feel right, but at the time I wasn't quite sure why.
Our family friend Patty would say I drew that card for a reason, that there was meaning to it. She likes to discover the connections between things, to find meaning in numbers, everyday objects, happenings.
Patty's son Reid died suddenly last weekend. How do you find meaning in that? Reid was my age. We grew up together in the early years when we lived in Pawlet. And even when my family moved away from that sleepy town, their family continued to factor deeply into my early childhood memories. But I didn't really know him at all.
Yesterday, the family held a service at the family farm in honor of Reid. As those close to him gathered and shared their stories and memories, I discovered this was a boy that struggled with life ever since his dear Pop died in 1996. They all struggled—he and his brothers, his mother—but Reid did especially. For almost 17 years. Why did I not know this? How could I not know? Because my mother didn't tell me? Because I didn't ask?
One after another, people came up and described Reid as a caged bird that has been set free. Patty and some others read out loud from Wallace Steven's 13 Ways of Looking at a Black Bird while high overhead a hawk circled nobly around us in blackened silhouette from the sun.
There is meaning in everything. If you look for it, you will find it.
Free.
If you are a naturalist, then you know we are all one with the earth—at birth, in life and at death. Reid's ashes are now scattered on the hill, where as children we ran and played. Where in the summer, the honeybees will drink the sweet clover nectar. He is one with the earth and with the honeybees.
If you are a scientist, then you know energy never really dies. The day Reid fell, the energy that coursed his living body—contents under pressure—released. His energy is now all around us, darting here and there like a hummingbird among the hibiscus.
If you are a poet, then you know you must harness that energy somehow, like a bird on a string. You must gently rein it in to the palm of your hand. You may hold it and mould it and translate it into a gift. But then you must set it free. For the entire world to see. Reid's poetry will live on forever. His music will live on forever. He is free.
* * * * *
A glass window pane can be a harsh and cold-hearted thing. It can bottle you in and completely cut you off from the world around you. On the outside, the fragile bird is fooled by his reflection and hugs into the glass at break-neck speed. But shatter the glass, and you and the bird can be set free, swept up by the swirling wind into the heavens above.
For those of us left behind, the sharp fragments of glass cut a painful wound deep into the heart. But if you can manage to shift your view ever so slightly, you will see that the shards become a luminous prism, casting millions of magical rainbows across the landscape and letting us steal a glimpse into that world beyond. They glitter on the roof of the sugar house, where we stayed the summer our own house burned down. They glitter in the apple orchard up on the hill, now completely overgrown. They glitter over the village of Pawlet, Mach's General Store, the mill pond and the little house where we grew up. They glitter over Haystack Mountain and up into the heavens.
* * * * *
Over the last week, I have spent many hours thinking about Reid. I've cried for him. For his brothers. For his father, who also died way too young. And for Patty.
When processing heartache, it is hard not to go into dark places. But you must try not to.
The world has wonderful ways of reminding us: there is still so much LIFE on this earth! The hummingbird flapping her wing so fast in the garden is singing, "live, live, live!" The gull who floats on a strong headwind knows not to struggle against the force, but to lay into it and glide like an easy rider. He takes a deep salty breath and dives towards the sea to snag his next meal. He is loving the simplicity and deliciousness of it all.
"Free. That is a good word for me today," I said to the woman at the desk. "That feels about right." It did feel right, but at the time I wasn't quite sure why.
Our family friend Patty would say I drew that card for a reason, that there was meaning to it. She likes to discover the connections between things, to find meaning in numbers, everyday objects, happenings.
Patty's son Reid died suddenly last weekend. How do you find meaning in that? Reid was my age. We grew up together in the early years when we lived in Pawlet. And even when my family moved away from that sleepy town, their family continued to factor deeply into my early childhood memories. But I didn't really know him at all.
Yesterday, the family held a service at the family farm in honor of Reid. As those close to him gathered and shared their stories and memories, I discovered this was a boy that struggled with life ever since his dear Pop died in 1996. They all struggled—he and his brothers, his mother—but Reid did especially. For almost 17 years. Why did I not know this? How could I not know? Because my mother didn't tell me? Because I didn't ask?
One after another, people came up and described Reid as a caged bird that has been set free. Patty and some others read out loud from Wallace Steven's 13 Ways of Looking at a Black Bird while high overhead a hawk circled nobly around us in blackened silhouette from the sun.
There is meaning in everything. If you look for it, you will find it.
Free.
If you are a naturalist, then you know we are all one with the earth—at birth, in life and at death. Reid's ashes are now scattered on the hill, where as children we ran and played. Where in the summer, the honeybees will drink the sweet clover nectar. He is one with the earth and with the honeybees.
If you are a scientist, then you know energy never really dies. The day Reid fell, the energy that coursed his living body—contents under pressure—released. His energy is now all around us, darting here and there like a hummingbird among the hibiscus.
If you are a poet, then you know you must harness that energy somehow, like a bird on a string. You must gently rein it in to the palm of your hand. You may hold it and mould it and translate it into a gift. But then you must set it free. For the entire world to see. Reid's poetry will live on forever. His music will live on forever. He is free.
* * * * *
A glass window pane can be a harsh and cold-hearted thing. It can bottle you in and completely cut you off from the world around you. On the outside, the fragile bird is fooled by his reflection and hugs into the glass at break-neck speed. But shatter the glass, and you and the bird can be set free, swept up by the swirling wind into the heavens above.
For those of us left behind, the sharp fragments of glass cut a painful wound deep into the heart. But if you can manage to shift your view ever so slightly, you will see that the shards become a luminous prism, casting millions of magical rainbows across the landscape and letting us steal a glimpse into that world beyond. They glitter on the roof of the sugar house, where we stayed the summer our own house burned down. They glitter in the apple orchard up on the hill, now completely overgrown. They glitter over the village of Pawlet, Mach's General Store, the mill pond and the little house where we grew up. They glitter over Haystack Mountain and up into the heavens.
* * * * *
Over the last week, I have spent many hours thinking about Reid. I've cried for him. For his brothers. For his father, who also died way too young. And for Patty.
When processing heartache, it is hard not to go into dark places. But you must try not to.
The world has wonderful ways of reminding us: there is still so much LIFE on this earth! The hummingbird flapping her wing so fast in the garden is singing, "live, live, live!" The gull who floats on a strong headwind knows not to struggle against the force, but to lay into it and glide like an easy rider. He takes a deep salty breath and dives towards the sea to snag his next meal. He is loving the simplicity and deliciousness of it all.
.JPG) |
| Some of us kids from the early Pawlet days, little Reidie at far right. |
Monday, January 21, 2013
Firsts
The last month has been one of many firsts. Just as soon as A turned one, her first three teeth popped out all at once. No wonder she was so crabby at Christmas!
Soon after, she started pointing at the tree every time we mentioned "Christmas tree." So we tried other words: owl, loon, light. She gets those. But when you say "mummy" or "papa" she just looks confused and points to the mantle.
Now within the last week she is actually saying the words! Her first one "banana" came out as "na na na na na" with a few extra syllables as she bounced up and down in her high chair in excitement about the fruit approaching her tray.
Since then she has also managed to say "owl" and "more" and, supposedly, "mama" when I was in the other room.
And lastly, she's made some steps on her own! Just a few here and there, but it's clear that any day now she is going to be off and running.
With all this excitement going on, it's so wonder none of us are getting any sleep!
Soon after, she started pointing at the tree every time we mentioned "Christmas tree." So we tried other words: owl, loon, light. She gets those. But when you say "mummy" or "papa" she just looks confused and points to the mantle.
Now within the last week she is actually saying the words! Her first one "banana" came out as "na na na na na" with a few extra syllables as she bounced up and down in her high chair in excitement about the fruit approaching her tray.
Since then she has also managed to say "owl" and "more" and, supposedly, "mama" when I was in the other room.
And lastly, she's made some steps on her own! Just a few here and there, but it's clear that any day now she is going to be off and running.
With all this excitement going on, it's so wonder none of us are getting any sleep!
Tuesday, December 18, 2012
one
This time last year, I was doing this:
I loved being pregnant and spent the last few days of my pregnancy just being. Then all of sudden, this happened:
We spent the first few days and weeks getting to know this strange little thing who had entered our lives. It was hard some days and I remember looking back on those quiet days of my pregnancy with yearning. I wanted to be back in that easy place where I could lay on the couch for hours and sleep and snuggle with the kitty and just be me.
But slowly and surely, this little creature edged her way into our hearts and our very beings. And now I look at that photo of the young pregnant woman on the couch, just on the cusp of a new life, and I just have to chuckle. How much she has learned and grown and changed. How much she's gotten wrong. But how much she's gotten right, too.
Tomorrow, our little girl will turn one. What a wild journey it's been so far. And on to the next!
I loved being pregnant and spent the last few days of my pregnancy just being. Then all of sudden, this happened:
We spent the first few days and weeks getting to know this strange little thing who had entered our lives. It was hard some days and I remember looking back on those quiet days of my pregnancy with yearning. I wanted to be back in that easy place where I could lay on the couch for hours and sleep and snuggle with the kitty and just be me.
But slowly and surely, this little creature edged her way into our hearts and our very beings. And now I look at that photo of the young pregnant woman on the couch, just on the cusp of a new life, and I just have to chuckle. How much she has learned and grown and changed. How much she's gotten wrong. But how much she's gotten right, too.
Tomorrow, our little girl will turn one. What a wild journey it's been so far. And on to the next!
 |
| Brand new |
 |
| 1 month old |
 |
| Right before 2 month shots! |
 |
| Almost 3 months old - This was the night before I went back to work |
 |
| Almost 4 months at my birthday party |
 |
| Her character started coming out in the spring |
 |
| Lots of poolyside fun this summer |
 |
| Beautiful baby at Hannah and Richard's wedding in June |
 |
| Enjoying the beach with besties in East Hampton |
 |
| First family trip to Southport, Maine |
 |
| Papa Daughter time in Boston |
 |
| Not quite sure about the Steam Punk exhibit at Shelburne Museum |
 |
| Playing in the leaves at the Farmers' Market |
 |
| Amelia's dedication on Mount Philo in October |
 | |||
| On our traditional hike to get the Christmas tree at Paine's. She was a good sport. |
Saturday, December 15, 2012
Awake
I woke up this morning after a full night sleep, with my daughter and husband sleeping peacefully next to me. We all got up together and began the day with excitement for the day, for the holidays.
I know there are many who did not sleep last night, because the sorrow in their life is too much to find peace. And for those who by the grace of God were able to sleep last night and were able to remove themselves from reality for just a few hours, for them perhaps the morning is even more difficult because they awake with a new sense of reality and sadness as the shock of their loss wears off.
Meanwhile the rest of us start to move on with our lives again and if we are blessed to live without sorrow, we tend to forget the sorrow of others. I believe that is partly a necessary survival mechanism.
But though we forget about sadness, we should never forget to be grateful.
I am so grateful for the nights when I can fall asleep with my family in a warm and precious and safe cocoon. For being able to wake with a light and joyful heart.
I know there are many who did not sleep last night, because the sorrow in their life is too much to find peace. And for those who by the grace of God were able to sleep last night and were able to remove themselves from reality for just a few hours, for them perhaps the morning is even more difficult because they awake with a new sense of reality and sadness as the shock of their loss wears off.
Meanwhile the rest of us start to move on with our lives again and if we are blessed to live without sorrow, we tend to forget the sorrow of others. I believe that is partly a necessary survival mechanism.
But though we forget about sadness, we should never forget to be grateful.
I am so grateful for the nights when I can fall asleep with my family in a warm and precious and safe cocoon. For being able to wake with a light and joyful heart.
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