Observing Ourselves

We are so responsive to our surroundings that it can sometimes be difficult to even recognize how they influence us. I’ve had people come into my office with complicated theories born of their concerns about symptoms they’re experiencing, only to realize that they’re actually fine and their bodies are doing exactly what they’re supposed to do given the other factors in their lives that they were overlooking. When we observe ourselves in the context of our situations so much more becomes clear.

For example, I often go all day in hot summer weather without ever feeling hungry, but less than ten minutes after entering an air-conditioned space I’m thinking about what I want to eat. In that short amount of time my body has responded to what it interprets as a different climate and created new cravings and priorities. When I walk back outside, into the heat of the day, the hunger disappears and is replaced by thirst. Instead of worrying that this is indicative of a blood sugar imbalance or dehydration, I know that my body is responding appropriately to its environs. But it can be easy to overlook how strong an influence something as much a part of our daily lives as air-conditioning can have on us.

Someone was telling me just the other day that she has found eating seasonally to work very well for her. Just about the time she starts to get tired of eating so much of one type of fruit or vegetable it goes out of season, and another one comes to the forefront. It felt like she was speaking from my own experience. This summer I was particularly blessed with abundant access to the freshest of foods, with many of my meals made from just-harvested ingredients. And as much as I expected to miss asparagus and arugula after their spring season ended, I was too busy enjoying the abundance of perfect summer squashes, wild berries and purslane to feel like I was being deprived of anything that wasn’t in season at the moment.

Excerpted from the September, 2009 installment of my monthly column, published in INK Magazine.

Playing Outside

It is a gorgeous late October day. Warm and sunny, with birds chirping in the backyard, it is especially fulfilling after the preceding rainy, cool days. I chase a woodpecker away from attacking the side of my house. I pick up sticks that will soon be kindling in the fireplace. I look for chipmunks as I head back to the compost bin. And I savor it. It feels good deep in my bones.

But the best part is raking up leaves. The way they crackle and crunch, releasing their delicious scent, full of the promise of the rich soil they will become... the way they unleash memories of scooping them up, filling bushel baskets, jumping into their heaped up piles... the way they skitter across pavement to startle us, making us think we're not alone.

I used to play with leaves for hours. I remember making soups from them in my sand pail as I played in the stream that ran through the neighborhood. I added stones and stirred with a stick and really thought that that was how "stone soup" was made.

In both spring and fall I would chain the maple leaves together to adorn myself with bracelets and necklaces and crowns. As I played, sometimes rustling noises from deep inside a pile of leaves would worry me enough to make me burst into a run.

Today I am using my tiny wheelbarrow that is starting to rust through and squeaks very loudly as we go up and down the yard. I am playing with leaves. I am savoring the beauty of the day. And I am feeling so thankful to be able to play outside.