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Memories and Magic at Cottage in the Court

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Memories of pink and blue hydrangeas found in Grandma’s living room were expected each year. However never a pink peony. This year a pink peony provides memories of Grandma.

Memories of my Grandma with a song on her heart have been with me all week. There are memories everywhere in my garden. Each spring, as the earth gives way to plants coming to life, I think back to my childhood. This is the week that I would rather have been outside in the garden. Lying motionless, head to the ground, quietly waiting for a worm to cross my path. Pursing my lips, gently attempting to blow it over, the worms became quite started. Wriggling quickly for cover, this game would have gone on for hours. Instead, Mom would call me indoors to rehearse my lines for the Easter program at Church.

We could walk to Grandma’s house on Capitol Hill after Church. With the smaller yards along the way, enjoying the diversity found in each garden was exciting. I wanted to linger at each and every yard we passed. My Grandpa insisted I keep up, so I did. However, the memories of the colors and textures lingered on my mind. Grandpa knew my parents would be waiting at the house. My parents were very protective of us and we were barely out of their reach.   

Easter Sunday there was usually a colorful Hydrangea in the windowsill at the house on 7th Street where they lived. Memories of the purples, pinks, and muted tones of these small shrubs, added a bright spot to the dimly lit living room. It was something I looked forward to every year. I often wondered what she did with them afterwards. Now I will never know.

This week, I marveled at my garden. As I walked past the Camellia’s with their bright red blooms, I heard a familiar voice. She sang in the church choir and rehearsing prior to an event was important. The song, “He Lives”, an old spiritual was a part of every Easter Sunday Service. I imagined Grandma was walking beside me, as I created my daily memory of the garden in the morning. As we strolled, arms locked together, her voice was quite clear and very real.

Memories of Daddy’s white special occasion suit brought a smile to my lips when I saw this peony in my garden.

At a moment when I had no time to spare, the magic found in my garden stopped me in my tracks. On another evening this week, I was caught off guard by a flash of color. My Dad had a white suit that he traditionally wore on Easter Sunday when he had to preach. The fabric was textured, not pin-cord or seersucker, but almost ridge-like. The ruffled, ridged petals of a peony made me freeze.

It was at that moment I heard the booming but mellow voice of my Dad, breaking into song, his song. “Blessed Assurance” was a song that Dad sang or hummed when he was feeling downright blessed. This white, bigger than life, crinkled petal peony – which should not be blooming right now – came to life before my eyes. It was as if the deeply colored center was a microphone and Dad’s voice filled the air around me. I was emotionally full. Grandma never saw my garden. Dad had the pleasure of seeing it and walking through it quite a few times….even now, in spirit. The memories, beautiful memories fill my soul.

I believe in my ancestral connections. The memories my Dad shared with me about North Carolina and gardening with his grandparents are etched in my mind. In my heart, I believe my ancestors are lifting me up and providing strength as I continue my garden writing journey. The awareness I have of their presence is so real.  

As new plants begin to unfurl, I am certain that more memories of my ancestors will offer more unexpected garden magic throughout the year.

Do you have memories of your ancestors when in the garden? There is magic in every garden…but you must be present to feel it, accept it, and allow it to bring you joy.

I am going to be sitting here waiting for the next memorable moment of magic with my kinfolk in my garden.

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Culture and Diversity -Between Harlem and Heaven

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Culture is all up in the foods we have grown to love. This book tells a story that will have you growing fresh vegetables just to try the recipes!

Culture is celebrated as we experience new foods, as well as ways to cook. Figuring out what to try in our gardens can be defined by the foods we are familiar with or something new we want to try. The Afro-Asian American style of cooking is shared between the pages of a wonderful book.

Between Harlem and Heaven – Afro Asian American Cooking for Big Nights, Weekends, and Every Day by J.J. Johnson and Alexander Smalls with Veronica Chambers. Not really a cookbook, but a story of a collaboration of two men who enjoy ethnic cuisine. Two restaurants in Harlem celebrate this story, Minton’s and The Cecil.

BIRTH OF A BOOK

Alexander Smalls is a one-man novel. A former acclaimed opera superstar, as well as an accomplished Chef, can add Food Genius to his repertoire. My head simply spins as he shares tales of his youth in South Carolina and New York. Balancing time with his West African grandfather in the garden, as well as time with family in New York, has created quite a successful man.

Mr. Smalls is on a mission to document the diversity found in the kitchen. In Africa, China, Brazil, the Caribbean, Europe as well as America, culture, and food play a role in our lives today. Finding the right Chef to collaborate on this story and write this book was important. Joining forces with Chef J.J.Johnson, these men wowed Harlem with not one, but two award-winning restaurants.

The jazz-themed restaurant, Minton’s is a Harlem landmark. This former hotel turned bar is where bebop was born. Many African American musicians entertained the crowds and were regular patrons as well. Minton’s Playhouse offers a real jazz experience on stage, which enhances the menu items offered. The Cecil features a more diverse menu based on the Afro-Asian-American style of cooking.

J.J. Johnson grew up in the kitchen where his Puerto Rican Grandmother unknowingly directed his path towards the culinary arts. The sights, taste, and scents he experienced on a trip to Ghana brought back many memories. On this journey with Alexander Smalls, J.J. connected with the culture and history of his lineage. J.J. describes this cookbook as a “choose your own adventure” book. These two Chefs suggest the readers try the sauces on different things. Use the recipes by adding a little here as you change things along the way – in essence, cook your own way.

SALADS

The first chapter has some delectable takes on refreshing salads using many items that can be grown at home. From the Daikon Radish Salad to the Harlem Market salad, my tastebuds danced at the thought of the taste. I dreamt of what I could grow in my garden to authenticate the taste experience. J.J. recommended trying the Mother Africa Sauce on just about anything. Let me tell you, it was quite delicious over steamed squash with brown rice.

MEAT AND POULTRY

Culture meets the soul when cooking Afro-Asian-American Gumbo. No matter what culture you embrace, this dish awakens the readers tastebuds on an International level. Imagine using homegrown oregano, thyme, bay laurel, or garlic to make the Gumbo Spice mix.

SO MUCH MORE…

From Hibiscus syrup to the history lesson tracing the journey which introduced Chinese food to Harlem, this book makes you hungry for more. Not just a cookbook, the importance of culture, and how it affects our foodways is important. Afro-Asian American food has a tendency to create conversation, as well as the discovery of the things from our culinary familiar.

There are more chapters with tasty recipes to try. As I embrace my culture, Between Harlem and Heaven will provide ideas to make this a journey to remember.

As the season for gardening is within reach, I highly recommend this book. Try to grow an ingredient from a recipe, harvest it when the time is right, and use it to enhance the recipes in this book.

Planting seeds for the Apple Cider Glazed Brussel Sprouts (page 208)…yummy!

Teri, (gardening with a passion) Cottage In The Court

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Southern Sonnet Honoring My Roots

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Memories of Magnolias dotting the Southern landscape linger in my mind…

As I embrace my Southern roots, I tend to think of little ditties to share. Things that perhaps Aunt Lucy or Uncle Willie would have thought as they performed the chores of creating a sustainable existence in Grey Court, South Carolina. Reading these words with a Southern flair, I share the joy of the season. I woke up with these words in my mind….

What is that golden glo
In the sky outside my do’

The chirping, tweeting song
Tho winter’s not gone

Let’s not rush the season
Although Spring is teasin’

Winter, Spring, Summer & Fall
Yep…at the Cottage, I Love Them All

As I anticipate sharing “Passionate About My Roots – History, Heritage and Heirlooms” at Magnolia Plantation, I have imagined how my Great Aunt Lucy would feel as the seasons changed. I often think of how any good Southern woman would embrace this time of the year. How would the fields be prepared and what was the planting plan for the season?

As a single woman farmer and the last surviving daughter of Albert S. Hunter, this was her responsibility. Aunt Lucy demonstrated the characteristics of everything I imagined a woman farmer would be. She took in laundry, babysat the little child across the way, balanced her checking account and did whatever odd jobs she could find to stay afloat. The essence of the typical African-American Southern woman was my Aunt Lucy. Only my Mom, knew how much I wanted to be like my Great Aunt Lucy.

Great Aunt Lucy Hunter, My Mom, Willie Belton Herron Speight and Me….oh how I miss and honor them….

I am a Native Washingtonian. A City made up of people who migrated up from the south for better opportunities. The Southern roots embedded in my DNA, speak to me every time I go into the garden.

Passionate About My roots – History, Heritage and Heirlooms shares what I know of my Southern roots. The roots that have continued to grow as I garden. From how I garden to familiar plants that were on the home site, memories keep me forever in a gardening state of mind. Memories enable me to embrace the beauty that surrounds me each and every day.

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