Meditation Over Coriander

Everyone who has grown cilantro knows how fast it goes to seed. Frustrating. That fast bolt does have its rewards, though: Free coriander. But only if you are willing to do some work. I am willing, as I don't consider it a chore. For me, it is a mediation.

They have pretty flowers, no denying that.


















I harvest the whole plant once the majority of seeds have dried and turned brown.

I use a large bag, cover the plant and then cut off the stalks. Hanging the bag for a week or two helps the plant fully dry and makes the seeds easier to remove. (forgot to take a picture of that!)

Here are the stalks after they have dried out and I have removed the seeds.

I shake and rub the stalks through the bag first so many will fall to the bottom of the bag. The rest I pick off roughly by hand; all go into a large wide bowl.

Here's where the mediation comes in. As you can see, there is a lot of "chaff" with my seeds. This all needs to be separated out.  I park myself on the edge of the deck with my legs sticking out onto the lawn and I do this:

Everything goes into a fine mesh colander over a bowl. You can see the fine twigs and stems that have already fallen through the colander below in the bowl.

Then I "thresh" it by rubbing my hand vigorously in the colander to break up the dry stems and leaves into smaller pieces so they fall through.

This takes a good while and it is here that I have learned to just be in the moment, not rush and not get impatient. I think about women in third world countries who do something like this every day just to feed their families. I look at the flowers in my garden. I think about how lucky I am. Towards the end, I am picking out small stems and leaves by hand. I am serene.

And the result is this:

I let it sit in the bowl for a week or so to let the last of the moisture escape, if there is any, and then I bottle it up and it goes in my spice drawer.

I will have more to harvest soon. If you would like to practice this meditation, I am willing to bag and cut plants for you--but you have to sit over your own colander to get the serenity. And the free coriander. Let me know.

A Transformative Day

Last week I walked out the Gull Point, Presque Isle State Park, here in Erie. It stormed the night before and I was anticipating that storm bringing in some new shorebirds, perhaps some rarities. It was still pretty dark and windy as I walked out.

I was "disappointed"in the shorebirds I did find. Short-billed Dowitchers, Lesser Yellowlegs, Least Sandpiper, Semipalmated Sandpipers and Plovers. I had my heart set on godwits or phalaropes. I compensated by watching the Caspian Terns, a favorite of mine. Here's one bringing in a treat.

Things perked up when a juvenile Northern Harrier showed up. Jerry McWilliams explained to me that the rufus color on the scapulars (shoulders) was an indication of its youth. It flew persistently over the open sand plain of Gull Point looking for a meal.

 As I walked back to my car, I noticed signs of the approaching fall-poison ivy already starting to turn.

As I drove away from the trail head I was making plans for what I would do at home, but in a spontaneous moment I decided to stop at Leo's Landing (where the "Feather" installation is on PIAS) in hopes of finding some fall warblers. That turned out to be a momentous decision. 

Sitting on the ground, unable to fly, was a young Turkey Vulture, with some white down still visible on its back and sides. It was huddled at the base of a tree, obviously injured and barely moving around. I called Tamarack Wildlife Rehabilitation and Education Center, they agreed to take it and with their help I hatched a plan for catching it. Anne Desarro, a park naturalist generously agreed to help and soon arrived with gloves and tarps for securing the bird. I had a box in the back of my truck. After several attempts, we eventually cornered the bird and I wrapped it in the tarp. It calmed down in my arms. It felt much lighter than anticipated. In the process of the catch we both discovered that its injuries were far worse than we first thought; most of its right wing was missing. We both knew that Tamarack would probably have to euthanize it due to the severity of its injuries, but we agreed that I should still take it.

We put it in the ready box, secured the lid and I headed out for Tamarack. When I arrived, the rehabber on duty agreed when I explained the injuries. They deftly and gently prepared the bird for its last. 

The rehabber asked if I wanted to stay.  I learned many years ago that I should always stay at moments like this. I had a cat named Buster who was one of my greatest delights. He developed cancer and at the tender age of three needed to be put down. Thinking that I could not bear it, I elected to not be in the room with him when they injected that shot. I still regret that decision and will always feel that I abandoned him at his most vulnerable moment. And I learned that love is not selfish.

I said yes and reached out, putting my hand on the vulture's chest. It was breathing hard. Slowly, though, it became more shallow. Eventually its chest stopped moving. The room was quiet and filled with respect for such a magnificent bird that did not get to live very long. Eventually, the rehabber said to an intern, "you can let go of its legs now." 

We were done. It was done.  This young vulture may have never even had the opportunity to experience the magnificence of flight, of soaring high on a thermal. But it transformed my day from ordinary to extraordinary and I know the gifts it gave me will be revealing themselves to me slowly for years to come.