Hand to Mouth

In Mrs. Matney's sixth grade science class, my schoolmates and I pressed seeds half an inch into potting soil ... and waited.  A few days later the bean plants sprouted, and within a week our little seedlings were spilling over the top of the Dixie cups.  It showed me just how strong the life force is, and it instilled a reverence for gardening.  Even now in the spring, I still thrill to see our tiny suburban garden come to life, and my wife Susan and I always reserve a spot for more exotic fare than those simple beans I nurtured years ago—Purple-Podded Pole Beans and Dragon's Tongue Bush Beans, among others.

Spring seedlings, mostly heirloom tomatoes, waiting to be planted

These days we plant an expanding variety of herbs, greens, and vegetables—parsley, cilantro, sage, arugula, Swiss chard, kale, peppers, cucumbers, watermelons, and tomatoes (to name a few).  Glorious tomatoes, heirlooms, take up the greatest section of our tiny yard.  Earlier this year we planted twenty-four such plants, filling every available inch in the backyard and (in pots) on our deck.  And they yielded a bountiful harvest.  From May through late July, we had a steady supply of tomatoes and prepared more than a dozen different dishes, sauces, and condiments, including puttanesca (a spicy entrée named in honor of prostitutes), homemade pizza sauce, and salsa.  We never got tired of adding tomatoes to our meals.

Pasta salad primavera with pine nuts

There's something reassuring about walking into the garden to harvest a few herbs for dinner, and because the weather in Houston is so mild, Susan and I can keep all kinds of plants thriving year round.

Herbs, greens, and (edible) flowers from the garden

There are few activities more soothing, more relaxing, than working in the garden, even if it's just deadheading blooms or pulling weeds.  The garden gives back so much more than it demands. 

Deadheading a butterfly bush

One of Susan's great ambitions is to build a garden that is big enough to meet most of our produce needs.  Part of the appeal is to limit the number of people who come between us and our food sources.  One way we do that now is through a subscription to Wood Duck Farm, a local CSA (community supported agriculture).  Every two weeks we pick up a box of produce from a delivery location near our house.  The offerings vary from season to season, but the quality of the produce is consistently good, and the quantities of fruits and veggies we receive are generous.

A summer share from our CSA

Between CSA seasons Susan and I also frequent the Urban Harvest Farmers Market in Houston.  It's a good place to buy produce, much of it organic, and a good way to support area farmers and ranchers.

Susan at the farmers market

One of our favorite springtime activities is picking strawberries at Froberg's Farm in Alvin.  On more than one occasion we have filled our buckets with more than ten pounds of berries.  Last spring we visited Froberg's four times.  It is also a great place to buy dried beans; because they are fresher than those you find at a supermarket, Froberg's beans cook more quickly and have a better texture.

Picking strawberries at Froberg's Farm

Susan loves to bake strawberry shortcake—not the sweet, spongy cup-shaped things I mistakenly called shortcake for years but, rather, a lightly sweetened biscuit-like pastry.  To celebrate the arrival of strawberry season this year, Susan baked a gorgeous upside-down cake, the recipe for which she found online.

Strawberry upside-down cake

We have a friend who has a decades-old fig tree that produces beautiful fruit that we are invited to pick every summer.  On numerous occasions we have endured 100-degree heat and swarms of mosquitoes to harvest sweet, sticky golden figs.

Picking figs in July

We have baked figs in muffins and on top of pizzas, and every summer we put up jars of preserves to get us through the rest of the year.

Homemade fig preserves

A final way Susan and I maintain close proximity to our food sources is through foraging.  There is a park near our house that has undeveloped tracts of forested land, and when the spring rains are plentiful, we can expect a bumper crop of wild dewberries.  They are plump and tart, nothing like the tamer varieties found at the grocery store, and you really have to work to pick them.  They grow on thorny canes, and you can expect to give a little blood (and walk away with scraped hands and arms), but they are worth the time and trouble.  (For more on foraging, check out the Foraging Texas website.)

A gallon of foraged dewberries

Even in bad years Susan and I can always find Muscadine grapes in the remote sections of the park.  They look like concord grapes but pack a much stronger flavor.  I've never developed a taste for them fresh off the vine; their high acidity burns your fingers, so you can imagine what they can do to your lips.  Susan, on the other hand, has learned to suck out the pulp without touching the skin to her lips.  Mustang Grapes make for a tasty jelly, and their tartness effectively contrasts the sweetness of the added sugar.

Susan eating Muscadine grapes

There is something rewarding in knowing that a stretch of wilderness is a mere stone's throw—or a bayou's crossing—from our home.  Houston is the fourth-largest city in the United States, yet wild fruits manage to thrive in isolated pockets; you just have to be receptive to them.  They are a testament to that powerful life force I learned about years ago in Mrs. Matney's science class.