Garlic Tells You a Story

Half already peeled.  Half left here to do.

They were halfway finished loading all our possessions into the moving van.  I was in the strawberry bed digging garlic.  They say you can't take it with you.  Speaking of the hereafter, that may be correct, but when it comes to garlic ready for harvest in the moment, I'm pretty sure you can.

That was June 25th, nine months ago nearly. And now today, I find myself peeling, sticky-fingered from the juice of the garlic, with surges of gratitude for the dense heads dug from between the strawberries. The heads and cloves have rested on the shelf in the pantry of our new home in Central Oregon through summer, fall and winter.  Spring called powerfully, and the sharp, green points of growth on nearly every clove told me today was the day to peel it up, mince and freeze it.  It's a very detailed and contemplative process--cleaning the cloves.  Somewhere in the budding garlic, I could also feel a blog beginning to grow.  So I took a break, washed my sticky fingers and sat down to tell you a bit about this new life in a new land.  See you again soon.

Soon to be minced and frozen