These beautiful woods cover most of the island and of course surround the piece of land along the road home. A John Deere tractor sits by the driveway for $200. There’s the house set in back of the lot. The building up closer to the road is adorned with horseshoes and various clutter of life. There’s a garden in back that must provide the furnishings for the rickety table at the side of the road. Rain, hail, or shine, acorn and butternut squash have been placed out every day we’ve driven by. A clear plastic container with its top cut off serves as the donation box, a clunky old piece of hardware weighting it down from the winds coming straight off Lake Michigan.
My mom and I have been buying the squash and savoring them. They are big, colorful, and full of fall flavor. They still have some dirt on them, and I can’t get enough of just feeling their pleasant shapes and smooth skins in my hands. I realize how much I’ve missed them and already mourn their passing days. Each year I conveniently forget how much I really love squash until it’s sitting there on the plate in front of me. That sounds admittedly strange coming from an American who is rapidly approaching Thanksgiving in the Midwest.
As I reheated some of the fresh squash the other night for a midnight snack, I watched the bowl spin around in the microwave. I couldn’t help feeling a little sad, like the process of microwaving took some of the essence of the squash away. Directing high concentrations of anything (especially types of energy) towards another thing is vaguely disconcerting to me.
No, I’m not going to start eating raw foods or even stop using the microwave, it’s just that I do wonder at the marvel of modern eating. And there’s something about fall that stirs longings. Sometimes it’s for people, sometimes it’s for the past or future, and sometimes, well, sometimes it’s just for squash.
Nice & entertaining site. Lovely pictures. Thanks.
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