Spring Roasted Carrots and choosing resiliency

I fell down on my trail run today. It happened as it does, a little trip over a big rock and then skidding in slow motion as I attempted to catch myself before I hit the ground. Hard. I’ve relegated my trail runs lately to the hill and trail behind my house, which happens to be a little sketchy in sections with giant, difficult to navigate old-access-road gravel. Just the section I fell on as I headed down the hill near the end of the whole pursuit. I got up quickly, didn’t even brush myself off, and began on my way again before a neighbor in the distance stopped to make sure I was okay. I’m fine. Haven’t fallen in a while so I guess I was due. Well, just your pride’s bruised then anyway, he said. Haha, well no. I fall down every once in a while. It happens. I’m fine, I assured him.

A few minutes later and closer to my house, I looked down and realized I’d shredded the entire palm of one of my gloves on the rocks. And my other palm, the one that had taken more of the brunt of the fall, was throbbing. Scrapes and bruises already appearing along the length of my hip and shin as I got back home.

I guess I really have threaded deep roots into the just get back in the saddle lessons and it’s a long way from your hearts that my dad had on repeat throughout my youth.

Chin up. Shake it off. Get back in the [actual] saddle. Keep going.

Before I go any further I’ll clarify that I’m certainly very human. I fall down and fail a lot. I run in mental circles of doubt or fear or avoid big things I don’t want to think about. And I tend to be quite susceptible or tuned into other’s energy states — so the past few weeks have affected me quite a bit. But the big moments in life where I learned the most about myself and what is important to focus on was when I tuned out the noise and energy around me and tapped into what I felt, what I knew to be true, and found peace and trust amidst the chaos and unknowing. That peace and trust has been more or less my status quo emotion / mindset the last several days.

It’s in times like these, with everything around us up in the air, that I recall moments of actually getting back in the saddle from my youth. When my horse bucked me off during our moment in the spotlight during the championship class at spring junior show all those years ago. When she did the same (which kind of was her habit — we made a good pair of two strong / determined personalities) at a routine lesson with my dressage coach. Both times landing me on my back with a sudden whiplash after that slow motion almost staying upright fall. And getting up just as soon as I hit the ground, launching more determinedly back to the task at hand. Fairly exactly like in trail running.

Anyways, I share all this because I think it’s in times when we’re knocked out of the norm of our comfort level, when we’re literally shockwaved into a new reality, that our ability to deal with more than we considered we could and our determination to do so, becomes clear.

One example of this that’s crystal clear to me is in my local food producers and restaurant industry. From two weeks ago being mostly shut down to already having several local partnerships that have pivoted into creating local food hubs for online ordering and distribution. Farmers and food producers rallying to support their community and their livelihoods in record time. From the extreme cautions that our local grocery stores are going to, inserting protecting barriers for their clerks on the front lines, to wiping down every cart and every surface after each customer, and on. And on.

I wrote a couple weeks ago about focusing on the good things instead of what isn’t going well. So I’ll share one of the good lately. Our farmers market is considered a grocery store – so still open with a few precautionary changes, thus allowing our local farmers to keep going. I encourage you to support yours however you can because good food and resilient local food systems are essential in these times. And thanks to marrying into a partnership that had strong visions of growing our own as much as possible, these spring carrots I’ll encourage you to seek out and roast up are a product of our back yard, a deserted and ugly dog run when we began with it. Planted and tended by one last fall (that’s William), and pulled from their dirty soil home, scrubbed clean, sliced, seasoned and roasted by the other (that’s me.) It never ceases to amaze me what can grow from essentially nothing.

So if you find yourself needing some assurance through this (whatever this is to you in your current situation), let me remind you:

Chin up. Shake it off. Get back in the saddle. Put your hands in the dirt or nutritious food around you. Keep going. You have everything you need to know in this moment. You’ve been given no more than you can handle.

Spring Roasted Carrots, makes about 3-4 side-dish servings
Spring carrots, if you have access to them, are more tender and generally a lot more tasty than the giant fibrous ones shipped from California and the like. For access to all their carroty nutritious goodness, I strongly recommend finding the locally grown ones, since many nutrients break down and are lost after months or weeks in cold storage. Because they’re more tender, I also think they’re best when you roast them so they still have a little bite to them, like al dente pasta, which is less-cooked than I enjoy carrots in the fall or winter.

1 large bunch or 1 pound tender young carrots, sliced in half and perhaps quarters.
1-3 tsp. coconut oil
thyme, minced rosemary or sage (you choose one or all)
salt and pepper, to taste

  • Preheat the oven to 400 degrees F while washing and slicing the carrots. Toss them together on a baking tray with the seasonings and and a little oil.
  • Roast until just al dente, about 20-25 minutes, depending on their size.


If you enjoyed this, I’ve been sharing a few practical resources and video posts over on my E+O Facebook page about how to navigate these times with resiliency and less anxiety / fear, and am currently taking new nutrition clients. Be well.

The best seasonal braised cabbage, kitchen morning mindfulness, and connecting to our food’s story.

When I wake in the morning, my tendency is to go towards some distraction immediately, whether it be reading emails on my phone, putting on a podcast to hear others talk at me, or perhaps even social media, though that’s much less my go-to than it was. When I am in the kitchen a little later cycling the dishes and making breakfast, my tendency is to reach for a distraction again.

Last year, I listened to a really impactful series of short podcast episodes on BBC’s Slow Radio about Benedictine Monks meditating on the nature of silence. One of the monks spoke about listening to the pauses in the everyday noise of our life, not filling it, but letting it be there, for it’s in the pauses that we hear guidance about our life (whether you’re religious or not, I’m guessing you have experienced this). So instead of filling the early hours with someone else talking, I’ve taken to letting my attention go to the moment and what I’m doing, walking this stack of bowls from the dishwasher to the cupboard, tracking back to the dishwasher, stacking the plates and walking them across the kitchen to the cupboard, pouring the boiling water over my first cup of tea, asking Alexa for a three minute timer, turning to the other counter, picking up the pear and knife, cutting the pear into haphazard pieces and scraping them into my oatmeal pot. Making my experience of the everyday morning hours, still technically dark outside, a fits and starts routine with less distractions from the outside world.

This kitchen meditation is important because it sets my whole day. My mind has a tendency to jump around, jump ahead, form conversations that will never happen, and turn unimportant moments and experiences into catastrophes, dreams and goals into hopeless pursuits. I’m not consistently mindful in the mornings, not able to have this presence always, nor do I carry it through for the rest of the day. But the daily practice lately is helpful. When I stack days on days of this practice, I notice I become more present for longer stretches elsewhere and thus my go-to mind chatter and on-too-much stress cascade is triggered less or bounces back a little quicker.

I have this Ayurvedic Cookbook by Kate O’Donnell, which I love for its easy meal inspiration and adaptability, but even more I love the introductory section, which makes up a good chunk of the book. Part of Kate’s introduction has a story about her yoga practice. She asks a long-time practitioner about the myth of mental calm through yoga and he tells her, “Do less physical monkey business and more concentration. Count your breaths.” She tells of not being particularly impressed with this advice, but then says, “When I practiced counting my breaths, I began to wonder – who is that counting and observing, and who is that telling me that I should be doing something else? So often, we identify with only the turbulent aspects of our minds, because they tend to be the loudest, and we are in the habit of joining their conversation. It takes patience and focus to stay tuned to the calm center, but it is possible. With practice, I stopped listening to the person arguing and began truly concentrating. It was in this state of focus that I finally found calm.”

Beyond this practice of paying attention, not engaging with the chattering, turbulent mind, is food, nutrition, and lifestyle. We have consistent research now backing up what the yogis and buddhas have known for centuries –that the mind and gut are connected. That there are energetic frequencies between the foods we consume and their effects on our mind and body. That the state of mind we prepare our food in has an affect on how we process it. That the symptoms we continually fall into, anxiety, depression, fatigue, pain, inflammation, hormonal imbalances, and on –they are symptoms, not problems, but symptoms of the body trying to get our attention.

As I’m writing this, it is the beginning of NEDA week –National Eating Disorder Awareness week, and as such it has been fairly routine for me to reflect on my own place in recovery annually. This week, it’s become apparent through my morning kitchen mindfulness practice that I’ve been connecting a little more into the beginning of my recovery, which began haphazardly about 13 years ago. What worked for me then, what really was my life raft out of my mental control and self-sabotage through food restriction was really connecting to my food community. I grew up on a ranch and our family had a garden growing up. Local food was really a way of life even if it was far from the romanticized version of farm life we all think of. As I found my way into nourishing instead of punishing my body, I needed that connection again, not to awareness of my mind’s tendencies–I wasn’t that far along and mindfulness wasn’t a thing that was ever brought up in therapy–but connection to my food. Who grew my carrot? What were the steps involved in getting that _____________(name that ingredient) to my store or farm stand and then to me?


Lately, I’ve been putting more emphasis on getting to my local Saturday market. It’s inconvenient to do so, I have to drive across town on a busy weekend at an inconvenient time of day, find a place to park, walk a few blocks, get cash ahead of time, deal with traffic back home, build the extra trip into my schedule, etc. But each time I do this, I’m reminded of the faces that feed us. The farmers themselves –often the farmer’s employees but still farmers—standing for hours on concrete in the middle of winter on cold, blistery, rainy days selling what we think of as ‘expensive food for the elite’ for mere dollars, and at the end of the day and year only making the farming business work because of a spouse or partner’s off-farm job or health insurance. If that sounds totally unglamorous, it was meant to—being aware of the reality of our thoughts or situations is rarely glamourous.

But when I see the hands that feed me and stay more connected to the origins of my food, I stay on the right side of my relationship to food in the recovery process. My relationship with my body is better, I care more for the livelihood of those that grew my food, I have more gratitude for our extremely happy and spoiled ‘ladies’ (hens) who provide the best eggs I’ve ever eaten, I translate that energy of good vibes into my presence in the kitchen and my emphasis on being in a state of calm and clear-mindedness, rather than cluttered, flustered, or not caring for myself well. Again–mostly. This takes practice. It’s certainly not my go-to mindset.

So much of each of our trajectories in this lifetime are like hiking up a slippery, icy mountain. We take a step towards improvement in whatever regard and then we slip back, sometimes giving up for a while before starting anew. As eating disorders and other mental health conditions become a little less stigmatized, or at least acknowledged, it’s important to remember that the glamorous recovery stories we read or hear, of healing through this or that process or someone else staying on the straight and narrow while we slip and slide up and down the same stretch of mountain, are not actually glamorous like they may appear. William’s ladies might lay golden, delicious, nourishing eggs, but there’s a lot of chicken manure in the process. The same goes for the beautiful food brought to the town square – freezing fingers and toes, big waterproof coveralls to wash off all the winter mud before it gets there are more the reality.  And have you ever picked vegetables for at least a day? I have. Once. For a day in the middle of a hot and humid July in Virginia as a community service project. It was back-breaking work. Truly uncomfortable and challenging. And there were giant spiders.

Connecting to the story of your food has a real way of anchoring in gratitude and mindfulness, whichever way that background story goes.

This National Eating Disorders Awareness week, if you’re inclined, I encourage you to try some sort of mindful connection, to the source of your food, or to the process of preparing it for yourself and/or family. Count your breaths. Tune into the process of preparing your food. Thank a farmer. And most especially, give yourself a big hug.

The Best Simple Braised Cabbage, serves about 4, if you’re lucky. ;)

Cabbage is one of my all-time favorite foods this time of year. I crave it every winter before all the new colorful fruits and vegetables start to appear again. Truthfully, I enjoy it just about every way, steamed simply with some salt and pepper is at the top of my list, then braised, roasted, boiled in a flavorful broth, or lastly shredded into some sort of raw salad creation–they’re all good. Cabbage cooked simply has a subtle natural sweetness that comes through and it’s just one of those still wintery-filling foods that walks the line between the green leaves of spring. At my local farmers market, all the different types of cabbage have been catching my eye lately. Use any type here, from bright red/purple, crinkly savoy, or your standard green variety.

a little splash of olive oil
1 medium onion, thinly sliced
1/2 tsp. salt
2 Tbs. raw apple cider vinegar
1 medium cabbage, thinly sliced
1/2 cup water

  • Heat the oil in a large skillet or wok over medium heat. Add the onion and cook, stirring occasionally for about 8-10 minutes, or until tender and starting to turn golden brown.
  • Turn up the heat slightly and stir in the salt, apple cider vinegar, and sliced cabbage, along with the water. When the water begins to boil, lower the heat, cover the pan, and simmer for about 30 minutes, or until the cabbage is very tender. Check and stir the cabbage a few times while cooking and add a little more water if begins to dry out or starts to stick.
  • Season with pepper, additional salt as needed, and then enjoy as a simple, tasty side dish.

Spanish Salad with Hazelnut + Paprika Dressing

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In the last couple weeks, I’ve had a strong inclination to be more mindful when shopping for food and to put more emphasis on supporting local growers, producers, and processors. Part of this, I think, stems from the recent fires here in the west, and several conversations about a warming climate and how we will have to adapt some of our food and/or growing conditions now and on into the future. I count myself very fortunate to live in an area of the world that is rich in agricultural and ecological diversity, and one in where a strong local food scene is thriving, but I also know the many hands that go into supporting the kind of community I want to live in, and how much consistent work it takes to advocate for a local food system–as well as the flip side of how we rely so much on the status quo with generally no thought to what will happen if… natural disaster, climate change, soil degradation and nutrient depletion, loss of community due to choosing mass-market businesses, etc.

 

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On this topic I’m inspired lately by Andrea’s plan for a locally grown September, and her invitation for others to share in a similar challenge, which I’m structuring in my own way. If you’ve been reading long, or read back into the archives, you’ll know that for me, developing a connection to what is produced locally and in relationship with the producers in my community kick-started and supported me out of my disordered relationship to eating many years ago, and it’s this connection to place and community through food that always assists me when I begin to fall even a little back into old habits.

This salad came about because of my refocus on mindful consuming, using what I have grown and what’s produced nearby, while at the same time taking inspiration from Sara Forte’s Spanish chopped salad in her Bowl + Spoon cookbook.

Before I get there though, this article shares some of the conversations in California (and likely elsewhere) about long-term crop planning and climate change.

And this article, in which I’m interviewed, speaks a little to the impact of our dietary choices on our environment.

Enjoy, or just enjoy this salad. It’s a good one!

 

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Hazelnut + Paprika Spanish Salad
1 small bunch kale, chopped
1 head romaine lettuce, chopped
3-4 cups arugula, torn into small pieces
2-3 green onions, finely diced
1 cup halved cherry tomatoes
1 small, diced apple
1-2 medium cucumbers, diced
1/2 cup cooked lentils
1/4 cup toasted hazelnuts, chopped
2-4 Tbs. parsley, minced

Hazelnut + Paprika Vinaigrette
1 clove garlic
3 Tbs. sherry or wine vinegar
3 Tbs. toasted hazelnuts
3/4 tsp. smoked paprika
2 tsp. honey
2 Tbs. parsley, minced
3 Tbs. extra virgin olive oil
1/2 tsp. sea salt
freshly ground black pepper, to taste
1-2 Tbs. water, to reach desired consistency

  • Blend the vinaigrette ingredients until smooth in a food processor or blender. Add a little water at the end to thin, as necessary.
  • Combine the salad ingredients in a large bowl. Drizzle atop 2/3 to 3/4 of the vinaigrette and toss to coat. Add a little more until you’ve reached your desired dressing level.
  • Serve immediately, while nice and fresh!