Contemplative Recipes by Alissa

it is early May when

a small herd of five Jersey cows

walk from the barn and out towards their first taste of spring grass

as i walk nearby in the forest towards

wild ramps, found in secret clusters in quiet places,

their bright verdant tips the first green to be spotted under

nearly bare trees.

the lifespan of a wild ramp accompanies

the arrival and departure of 

daffodils, tulips, and the trilliums that speckle the forest floor

as fiddleheads rise up, swirled, and unfurl

towards the wild apple blossoms that open 

to attract the bumbling bee.

meanwhile, at the right moment

the cows turn towards the barn for their milking

as i return to my kitchen 

to rinse ramps under cool water,

and reach for the cheesecloth

drying by the open window.

~ Alissa

We stood at the stove together, my guest and I, peering into a pot of bubbling soup.

Vegetables rinsed, chopped and layered in together, the conversation flowed easily, anchored down in moments of pausing, sensing the ingredients and their evolution before us.

A quiet settled in.

In her own time, it came from her, a soft whisper into the pot of simmering shades of green, “Vitality. I miss you.”

Past us, out the kitchen window, there was a late snow landing on daffodils, as winter slowly let go into spring.

There was something about the quiet, the rhythm of the kitchen that led us there, the view shifting outside the window, that made room for such a heartfelt prayer; an essential ingredient to life, dormant and renewing.

~ Alissa

Coming Soon!

A day stained pretty 

with the pinks and reds 

of another strawberry season.

Heart full, walking tired, turning, climbing up 

to the Metheral’s pond.

There, 

standing, soaking in green hills and pasture,

hands still sticky with fruit and lavender sugar.

Looking down into cool waters

I dive into

ripples of a late June sun, yellow and heavy, 

sinking into the horizon.

~ Alissa

with feet barely on the ground

me and the dairy farmer and his family

stand on tiptoes to reach for cherries 

hanging from bowed branches 

above us.

sweet, so sweet

the juices running deep dark red

and i wonder about bright spicy basil

and cool fresh mint

for balance, or just for kicks.

this

turns my feet

towards my garden 

for fingers to pluck the herbs

i carry through my kitchen door

wash and set beside the basket of cherries.

hands

pit

chop 

measure

mix 

stir

cook

pour

the herbaceous rich summer red into 

12 mason jars, ready.

i take it all in:

a pantry shelf neatly lined

a new recipe bursting with fresh potential

my joy captured from under that cherry tree.

~ Alissa