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.

Anticipation

The garden teaches me patience. Every year, I looked forward to the unfolding season of growth that it provides. We are in the midst of the cycle now with some flowers already faded, some in bloom now and more to come. I sit on my deck and look, cataloging what is still left to anticipate. I crave those blooms, vegetables and fruit; I want to see them, eat them, savor them. Years of experience has taught me though that I cannot crave them too much. I must give them their time and learn to enjoy the delicious anticipation for itself.

I have to wait until July each year to see the butterfly bush bloom.

The mandavilla I saved from the clearance rack has its first open blossom today.

As does this tiger lily. This one took a long time to open--I was expecting it last week.

We are eating the cherry tomatoes, but these Carmellos are making us wait.

As are these stunning San Marzanos. These will be sauce later on. 

The Joe-pye weed is starting to get its color,

but we're going to have to wait a while longer for the moonflower vine. I'm really anxious for these--I haven't grown them in at least 10 years.

We won't be eating the pears until late August or early September.

I've already harvested the garlic and it is drying in flats on the driveway. I am happy knowing that we have more to savor--the cardinal lobelia, onions, carrots, a second wave of roses, morning glories, fall-blooming anemone, tomatillos and more.

When the toad lily blooms (the strappy leaves not the variegated ones), however, I start to panic just a little. This is the last flower to bloom in my garden. It will be late September before it shows off its orchid-like blooms. The anticipation then will only be for colder temperatures and, well, snow shoveling. It's much harder to enjoy that anticipation. Until then, the garden will carry me. Still so much to look forward to.