As most people know, we grow, forage or hunt almost everything we eat at the homestead. It’s not that it’s cheaper, though indeed we spend far less on food than the average person. It’s not that it’s outdoorsy, even though I am an admitted woodsman, so much in fact that I can barely force myself to sleep indoors and often choose the deck or table near the chimenea at the edge of the Elfwood. It’s not the exercise, though the hard work does in fact keep us fit. It’s that at the end of the day, when the blood, sweat and grime of a day’s hard work in the woods and gardens are washed away, my wife and daughters can sit down to a meal with this much goodness in it. I think of it as powerful medicine, in the nutritional and magical sense. And no foodie ever had a meal like this at the poshest restaurant. I just call this Woods & Garden Soup, though I suppose you could just as well call it Half-Wild Hodge-Podge. In the cauldron that simmered upon the stove this afternoon, my red-haired, green-eyed kitchen witch concocted a fabulous melange: the chanterelles we harvested in the Elfwood yesterday, common daylily blossoms, squash blossoms, a couple freshly pulled Spanish onions, quartered yellow baby scallop summer squash, diced lamb’s quarter (common garden weed), diced baby zucchini, broth of bacon, new Irish Cobbler potatoes, herbs of ox-eye daisy leaf, savory and dill, and some home-brewed Reisling. Everything but the bacon we grew, crafted or foraged here at the homestead. Oh gods, was it good! And powerful medicine, for there is power in taking in the bounty of the land. It brings you close to the forest and meadows, the sky and water. Eating can be a magical experience at Twa Corbies Hollow.
At the End of the Day . . .