It’s been hot and dry the past couple weeks here, so I’ve been trying to get to the garden every other day or so to water.
Yesterday, I noticed some of the garlic was 2/3 brown, and ready to pull.
This year, I tried an experiment and planted the peppers in between the garlic to save on space, but also to allow a revolving use for it because garlic is harvested in very early summer.
So I pulled up about half, or any that looked ready. Then today, I got to work to clean them up.
My friend, Eggie, and I are taking a Yale Open Course on American (chattel) slavery and emancipation. I listened to the same lecture as last week, so I can refresh myself before attempting the coursework. With that, I got to the most satisfying part of my short harvest.
It’s crazy how two disparate activities can converge into an experience. I listened to the professor talk about a man in Concord who bought his freedom, while I peel back the layers and trim the roots of this fresh bulb.
I will enjoy this garlic. I always say “I grew it myself,” but the truth is the garlic just grew. Sure, I planted the cloves last fall, but that’s literally all I did.
Within these acts I find myself resonating with having to buy my own freedom.
The story he told was pretty sad. I don’t want to spoil it, but basically this man was able to work his way to buy his freedom, then drank himself to death by the time he was 60.
I’m only twelve years to 60.
I’m grateful to have these moments of simple pleasure, like peeling fresh garlic.