When Life Gives You Lemons….
Elisa sent Meyer lemons and kumquats from her trees in Georgia.
Oh, happy day! A box arrives unexpectedly and feels cool to the touch. Cutting the tape, I lift the lid to discover 4 Meyer lemons and countless kumquats … SUCH kumquats! Sinking my teeth into one, I am surprised by the explosion of sweet and aching sour flavors that at once entice and repel me. Puckering, I am tugged in two directions as I look at my desk.
I was in the middle of downloading my first session for the YouTube Channel-to-be, and I have work to do on this webpage. In both there is a learning curve.Tomorrow I will prepare for one more holiday gathering. Whenever will I care for this beautiful fruit?
Now. My mouth tingles with the kumquat’s impossibly bright flavor. I feel in my soul the clarity that neither they nor I will wait. Clinching the matter, my computer insists on an update before I can download fresh footage from my iPhone. I plug in the laptop and unbox fruit before searching out empty jam jars.
“Use [the harvest] respectfully. Never waste what you have taken. Share.” Robin Wall Kimmerer reminds us of the Honorable Harvest in Braiding Sweetgrass. I need no reminding. Pulling out pots and pans, I wash and dry the fruit before I think to reschedule my afternoon’s work. Years of caring for our urban farm bumps me along the well-worn track to offering my hands and heart in thanksgiving.
Swapping deskwork for listening work, I bluetooth my audiobook Huddle and, slicing kumquats over the sink, am inspired by Brooke Baldwin’s stories of building up the courage and community it takes to succeed, especially as a woman. Juicing lemons, am uncertain about how the time-tested version of myself as harvester will mesh with my new hobby of connecting with folks in social media. Intending to bring my experience in nature to that venue, it’s imperative that I nurture my ongoing relationship with living things. In my balancing act this evening, I find Baldwin’s words precious and I scribble them on a notebook nearby, juice staining the page.“The process of taking action—and faltering along the way—is at the heart of becoming self-assured,” she writes. Though I may falter, I cannot fail.
I am grateful for this harvest of mind and heart, so appreciative of Baldwin’s words, of the time and energy my friend Elisa took to harvest, thankful to the kumquat and lemon trees for their gifts, and finally, so grateful that Seda cooks dinner around me as I chop and stir.
This is interdependence in action — a choosing, a loving, a sweating, and a little taste of heaven. That kumquat marmalade is one of the best things I’ve ever put in my mouth. I hope my friends and family agree!
P.S. You can find the recipe here, and the secret to impossible flavor is the freshest of fruit. I used 2/3 the sugar upon Elisa’s recommendation, as her fruit was so sweet.