The Last of the Basil

This is an excerpt from the weekly News-Loveletter. If you would like it sent to your inbox directly (with all the other juicy bits, including a mini joy practice), you can add yourself to my mailing list here.

I cut the plants almost to the ground, thanking each profusely for their offerings. The sweet scent of basil floated all around as I trimmed, washed, and dried their bright green leaves. When the children were young, I’d set them to work with a mortar and pestle. Having other worklove to attend to, I now pull out the food processor.

I understand that pesto was first made in Liguria, on the coast of Northern Italy. People who made their living at sea back then were grateful to safely store their greens in this flavorful accompaniment.

How do you preserve summer’s bounty in jars, art, dance, or other forms? And when are you most likely to seek it’s nourishment in the dark months?