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  • Fall is hard for me. Shorter days, and the closing of windows gives me feelings of claustrophobia and sadness, but gradually my body and my brain settle into the change and my focus comes inside, more in tune with my hearth and inner world. My brain slows and is given to pondering. My heart grows more tender. From the garden we filled the larder with onions, tomatoes, potatoes, beets, peppers, beans, and the winter squash. It is the strong, solid Kabocha squash that gives me the greatest pleasure. It is built to help us withstand the winter cold and darkness. It grew mammoth leaves and large hollow stems, its vines spread wherever it wanted and as far as the season let it. At its nodes it had put forth glorious yellow trumpets that bumble bees wallowed in and carried out the pollen.
  • When I go in to choose the one for evening fare, there they are sitting in rows on the cool floor. The squash are heavy and full of seeds. They have presence. This is a complete food. It carries its succession.
  • We make squash carrot soup. With lots of ginger. This year it will be a soft yellow as the meat of this variety of Kabocha . Last year our bright orange variety had darker orange flesh. It was sweeter but not as nutty. This is winter food that is sensuous, not bland, fresh tasting well into the long season.
  • We will still make weekly visits to the Shop and Save but it is the deep gray blue Kabocha Squash with the gnarly stems, the filtered light through the pine tree outside, the green wingback chair with my husband's Carhardts thrown over them that share the room with the larder, these are the little things that are my home life in winter . Every time I open the door to the cool insulated room ( it was insulated for sound when it served as a ham radio station), I am given over to the memories of food growing outside the window.
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