I’ve been preserving. Bottling and drying Summer’s gentle form of energy – plums, tomatoes, peaches and zucchini. They’re resting in the larder – a little smugly perhaps, or is that me? It feels pretty good, you see, squirrelling it all away – preparing for the (supposedly) hungry months ahead. Though we had enough cauliflower to feed a suburb last Winter. It’s not our immediate food security that fills me with the sort of warmth a pulse-laden soup does on a finger-chill evening. No, that beany warmth comes from the quiet pride in having produced this trove from the soil I’ve nurtured in our new home. It’s the fruition of a journey, if you will. And I’m preserving it. Keeping it for a future that daily seems more certain – as though the bounty in the cupboard ensures our steady progress. Although, in truth, the act of preserving probably reflects our growth more than that of the fruit.
This Friday will mark five years since Black Saturday. I hope you, too, have something to preserve.
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