Sowing the Seeds of Love
Surprises among the nasturtiums
Nasturtium seeds do not grow when I plant them. I have soaked and scuffed them, babied and ignored them, even planted them from healthy nursery starts – nothing. If they do germinate, and they seldom do, they quickly wither away.
For someone with a green thumb, a whole green hand even, I was left feeling shunned by a bright plant that I adore.
Fortunately, the birds do know how to make nasturtium grow. At our community garden bright orange flowers on long trailing tendrils mix in with the fence rows and pop up in surprising spaces. My zucchini is wearing a skirt of nasturtiums this year, and it is beautiful to behold.
Yesterday I was working in my plot, just puttering and talking to myself really. Two young voices (young being relative at my advanced age of 47) drew my attention from the abandoned plot across the overgrown grapevines left behind by the previous tenants.
Let me interject to say I absolutely love to meet new gardeners. There is always the chance that I will meet a kindred spirit, another member of the plantfolk tribe that my socially awkward self best identifies with.
I frantically look around the garden. I am not skilled at initiating conversations with strangers, so I prefer to let the plants talk for me. What is ready to harvest? Ah, yes! One zucchini, parsley... and nasturtium seeds.
Quick, quick! Gather the bounty. There’s no telling how long they will stay and I don’t want to be seen awkwardly chasing someone down with a zucchini. Cut a piece of twine to secure the parsley, and grab a square of torn shade cloth to create a seed bag. A perfect garden-warming gift to welcome the possibility of late-season friendship.
“Hello!” I call nervously over the gate. “Are you taking on this bed?”
A young woman, likely from the university, smiles and wipes her hands on her denim overalls. I register this silently, as overalls are a common sign of potential plantfolk. She gestures to her friend, another young woman awkwardly poking at the ground with a hoe. This one looks relieved to set the unfamiliar tool aside.
“I’m Emma,” the first woman says brightly, “and this is Jilly. I just rented the bed this morning and couldn’t wait to get it ready for fall planting.” We finish our introductions, then Jilly begs off to get some water.
I hold aloft the bounty in my hands. “Since you’ve missed the summer crops, would you like some produce? I’m growing more than we can use.”
Emma’s eyes light up. Yes! I think. She understands our language, our culture. If she’s not plantfolk yet, she will be!
“I’d love some produce!” She takes my offering and inspects it. “Ooh, what are these?” She holds aloft the nasturtium seeds.
We take the age-old stance of those-that-grow-things, each leaning on our respective side of the fence in comfortable camaraderie. When I name the seeds, Emma’s eyes light up again with recognition. She’s familiar with the peppery tang of the flowers and leaves in a salad, but didn’t previously know the seed pods were edible.
Without hesitation, she rubs one on her shirt to knock off the dried petals and pops it in her mouth.
I tick off another plantfolk qualifying box — straight from plant to mouth with no qualms. I like this Emma.
“OH!” she exclaims, “It’s like wasabi meets black pepper meets sunshine!”
This young woman is killing me. Could today get any better?
“I know, right? And they grow semi-feral all over this garden, spread by the birds and squirrels, I figure. I make capers from them for salads and stir-fries.” I’m talking too fast, too excitedly. I can’t help it, I really love plants and I really love plantfolk.
“Can you tell me how?” I start to answer but Emma holds up a hand, “Hold on, I gotta write this down.”
I expected her to grab her phone and pop open an app, but instead she reaches into her back pocket and pulls out a tiny little spiral steno pad and a chewed up pencil. It’s the same type of steno pad my grandpa kept in the front pocket of his gingham work shirts when he was inspecting the barn. The type my aunt kept hanging from a string by the back door so she could record her daily harvest from the vegetable patch. The pad my dad kept on the floured worktop when he was in his restaurant kitchen inventing something new out of the produce he lovingly selected at the market that very morning.
The exact same pad that was in my own back pocket, dog eared and decorated with soil-encrusted fingerprints.
You can bet I shared that recipe with Emma.
We talk a bit longer, sharing bits of our history (she is originally from the Great Lakes region and a student – ethnobotany and sustainable food systems). We discuss the best way to turn the broken Ikea bed frame she scavenged from the dumpster into a viable trellis for the overgrown grapevines. I promise to bring her a baggie of seeds for her fall garden, and she offers to bring me a box of lettuce from her apartment balcony pots.
A Stellar’s jay, pecking at the nasturtium pods I left on the plant, squawks loudly at me when I finally return to my own little plot.
“Thank you,” I whisper to both jay and flower, “thank you for sowing our little community.”
Capers, Plantfolk Style
This isn’t a recipe, but a method. The only thing that matters is that you have the green seed pods of nasturtiums and some sort of vinegar. Let your heart and your hunger guide the rest.
Ingredients:
A jar with a lid.
Enough pods to fill the jar at least half way.
Vinegar – any type. Apple cider, white, red wine, or my favorite – vinegar that has been infused with chive flowers from my own garden.
Sugar, brown sugar, honey. I bet even molasses would do!
Salt
Seasonings. Let your taste buds guide you. I usually use some peppercorns, red pepper flakes, mustard seeds, and dill. I like things spicy!
Fill the jar with vinegar then dump it in a saucepan. Add some sugar, no more than a teaspoon for a pint jar, and a pinch or two of salt. I can’t tell you exact amounts, so follow your heart and trust your intuition. Same with spices and seasonings for choice. Trust yourself, love yourself, you can’t do this wrong!
Add in a splash of water, no more than ¼ cup for a pint jar, and bring the brine to a simmer. While heating up the vinegar brine, rinse and separate the pods. Pour some hot water into the jar to temper it to heat, empty, then put the seed pods in the jar. Pour in the hot brine. The seed pods must be covered, so add more vinegar if they aren’t (no need to simmer the top-off vinegar).
I leave the jar out, with lid in place, at room temperature for a few days, then transfer them to the fridge after. Wait a couple of weeks before enjoying. You can probably safely waterbath can these due to the high acidity, following the recommended times for pickles, but I personally haven’t tried it. I do know they can last for at least three months in the fridge, although they are tasty and are usually all enjoyed long before then!
Use them how you would capers. I toss them into both pasta salads and salads of mixed greens. They add a bit of spice to a stir-fry, and I’ve even sprinkled a few into a taco for an added kick. Nasturtium capers are especially good in a potato salad or chopped up in deviled egg filling.
Don’t just make them for yourself. Share them! Nasturtiums can build community, but we have to do the legwork.
Daybook
Weather~
The promised clouds arrived early in the week, along with cooler temperatures. Unfortunately, they did not bring the promised rains. A few sprinkles in our area. By Friday the sun was back as were threats of 80 degree F temperatures on the horizon.
Moments of Joy~
Making new garden friends, canning blueberry jam, thrifting for needs and wants with my oldest son (plus another picnic in the park). Hatch’s green chiles made their way to our nearby market, traveling from New Mexico to Washington state. A marvelous miracle for the taste buds!
Sticky Wickets~
I am getting older and yet I still insist upon repeating history – too much time on the computer and not enough outside had me rushing to remember what my physical therapist taught me when I damaged this old shoulder a few years back.
On the Homefront~
It was our last week to practice being empty-nesters, the teen comes home from his cross-country odyssey to visit his girlfriend. That’s okay, I miss him.
Once again, a lot of enjoying our balcony with a cold one in hand. Plus reading out there, lots of reading and lots of library books.
We took another day trip to the island and poked around some more. Found a lovely park for a picnic lunch, and found a few leads on finding affordable housing/land options. Worth it for a couple of gallons of gas.
Tons of veggie harvesting. Zucchinis (of course), epic amounts of runner beans, nasturtium pods, plenty of herbs for fresh use and drying, broccoli, several lovely cucumbers, and tomatoes by the handful. In fact, the only produce I purchased this week was mushrooms, and some local peaches and blueberries.
Made 8 jars of blueberry jam. I am done with jam making for the year (I do cherry, strawberry, blueberry, and blackberry).
Spent an inordinate amount of time planning my winter garden, but it’s done…for now.
Took the older son thrifting and antiquing, along with a picnic lunch at the park. I scored two carry-on sized suitcases for $5 each, which we desperately needed for an upcoming international trip.
Read something online that led me to call the bank we had our last car loan with back in 2012. Seems they owed us a refund for fees they illegally charged, which they had sent to a very old address. Updated the info and should be getting a nice check in a couple of weeks.
Hatch chile is in, so bought up a bunch to roast and freeze for the rest of the year!
Lots and lots of good home cooked meals:
Quesadillas and corn on the cob (local and oh-so-sweet, I bought extra to dehydrate for winter).
Zucchini-turnip chowder with a load of homemade Irish brown bread.
Chicken wraps and cuke-tomato salad with homemade dilly ranch.
Green chile & bacon rellenos with broccoli.
Chicken-zucchini-runner bean teriyaki rice bowls.
Quesadilla-omelets and more tomato-cucumber salad.
Chicken sandwiches and more delicious corn on the cob.
Hope is the only bee that makes honey without flowers.
Fondly yours in love, peace, and gratitude,
Jenny Wren
