In the eyes, heart and mind of a romantic fanatic, obsessively trying to penetrate the mysteries of interconnection, heavily addicted to the ingenuousness the quest itself dispenses by giving rise to brand new stories and experiences as well as insights in older ones previously misunderstood or misjudged, any seed is a huge asset, a pragmatic proof of permanent progress, the essence of the never-ending cycle of past and future, solidified in the now. The language of the land, as a parable pretty trodden down in art and religion, can still expand ones mind ferociously when trying to fathom its wonderness.
With autumnal harvest season still in full swing at Les Pierres, going through the motions of processing something almost every day, whether it be for that days dinner or profitable prolonged prosperity, seeds play a huge role too, representing both food to sustain us through the coming winter months and the promise of hope contained when sown again next Spring. Cutting through a pumpkin is the ultimate example of this, instantly weighing we only need a few for replanting but overly proving the proverb since we are reaping much more, as are the jars of sunflower seeds harvested from only the few plants we grew on the side this year, another amazing multiplication.
As a symbol the pumpkin is also the hallmark of Halloween, of which the earliest origins can be traced back to Samhain, a Celtic harvest festival, marking the beginning of winter during pre-Christian times. We don’t carve our pumpkins at Les Pierres, but that is not to say I don’t feel a vivid connection to Stingy Jack, who was said to have fooled the devil several times not to end up in hell, but wasn’t welcome in heaven either because of his, among other things, love of strong liquor. Having to walk the earth forever with a piece of glowing coal as an only light, doesn’t sound like insurmountable punishment when you are as astonished by its beauty as I am, or as curious about its mysteries.
Yesterday’s epitome, spontaneously grown on a friend’s compost pile, inspired a soup concoction with other seeds of my ongoing imagination: red lentils and some previously foraged, now roasted chestnuts.