To Everything, Turn, Turn, Turn

I've been watching a lot of the Olympic television coverage these days and can't seem to get enough of it. The swimming events have been particularly riveting as Michael Phelp's glides his way to a first ever eight gold medals in a single Olympics. There is a lot I could write about on this topic. The Olympics brings out the competitor in me. I find myself getting up, standing in front of the t.v. and cheering loudly as racers push toward the finish in a nail-biting fashion. I'm also dumbfounded by a strange surge of national pride that courses through me as I watch. This is, well, strange. I normally find nationalism fairly deplorable as it tends to ignite an "us versus them" mentality leading, inevitably, to fracture, war and bitterness. But enough on that positive note.

What I've come to realize about myself is I have this need to assign events significance as it relates to time, seasons and lifestages. So, for me, the Olympics is an every four years, get stuck to the t.v., feel patriotic, relish the competition of sport kinda deal. I love it. It is also one of my signals that summer will soon be over and fall (and snow) are right around the corner. The MN State Fair is another one of those end-of-summer signs. You know when you start seeing advertisements for the fair that Labor Day will be here before you know it.

When I was young, I marked the end of summer as the time when my dad hit the farm fields and harvested grain. He would take off early in the day and swathe and gather wheat until the sun set and darkness fell. I fondly remember waiting for him to get home so the whole family could sit around the table listening to the adventures of his day -- what machinery broke down, how many rows did he cut, how many bushels did it take to fill one truck bed. These moments were also marked by our enjoyment of fresh produce from my mom's garden. We would be more than content slicing a garden tomato still hot from soaking up the August sunshine and eating it with nothing more than a sprinkle of salt and pepper. There is just something about straight from the ground food that cannot be compared to the stuff we now get in grocery stores. As I recall, these home-grown tomatoes had a taste I could only describe as a combination of warm and cool, slippery with a sweet tang that left the back of your tongue zinging and buzzing.

I'm reading the book Animal, Vegetable, Miracle by Barbara Kingsolver. In it, Kingsolver writes of her family's move from Arizona to Virginia to live on a farm where they raise and grow all of their own food. Her narrative spans a year of vowing to eat only locally. The book is amazing in both its poetic quality and the way in which Kingsolver documents the inextrincable connection between time, the seasons and what it is we eat. I won't spoil the details but will say that both the end of summer here in MN and this book have inspired me to eat better and truly grab hold of the variety of summer food bounty that surrounds me. I must add that my other inspiration was Mrs. Scribble who has planted a big garden of her own and is already busy picking, washing, and canning her own vegetable miracles.


With all this inspiration floating around me, Mr. Oz and I hit the St. Paul Farmer's Market this weekend on our own morning adventure.



















It looked to be over one downtown city block of fruit, flower and vegetable stands and neither the amount nor the quality of produce disappointed. We strolled from stall to stall checking out the wares of these family farms and came away with our own mini-harvest of corn on the cob, green beans, green peppers, tomatoes, beets and raspberries. Visions of late night al fresco dining danced in my head. Not quite sure what I'm going to do with those beets, but I'm sure I'll think of something. Maybe I'll plan a big summer vegetable feast to celebrate the conclusion of the Olympics, State Fair and summer!