for emily

kale is a cool weather vegetable that thrives at coastal farms in northern california, where the temperatures rarely exceed 75 degrees, but the soil temperature is maintained around 55 for a good 8 months of the year. it is a brassica/crucifer (the flowers look like yellow crosses) and is therefore related to broccoli, cauliflower, mustard greens, bok choy, cabbage, raab, collards, kohlrabi, arugula and radish. it has numerous varieties: red russian, blue vates, lacinato or dinosaur, and curly, to name a few. generally, it is found in cuisine as a side dish, sauteed with garlic, perhaps, or as a "green" contribution in soups, stir-fries, or salads.

i have a special relationship with kale. i am roughly 40% comprised of kale. i can eat it a bunch at a time, as a main dish with a miso-lemon-tahini dressing, or at breakfast alongside eggs with garlic and red pepper flakes. my friends know they will be served kale if they are eating dinner with me. the only bumpersticker on my truck for quite sometime stated my philosophy for the betterment of life: "eat more kale".

kale, once established, survives the coldest conditions of most growing places. in fact, it often tastes more rich and sweet after the frost that brutally kills off the rest of the garden. i desire that stamina. i want to make good of the dark and the cold. so, i eat kale. lots of it. as if, somehow, i will be what i eat.

my will has been tested. after 4 years in colorado, i suffered a winter that was the closest thing to depression i'd felt, um, since i discovered kale. but kale has a hard time here, too. it told me so, late last summer in the garden i planted at the smiley building. after several months of production, it grew weak. the aphids moved in on it. "we'll keep growing," it told me. "but we'd rather you take our lives now, when we can still be of use to you, nutritionally speaking...". it said little else, except to mention its joy of having grown under the shade of the sunflowers for so long. i smiled with sadness in my heart, and deep respect for the generosity of this plant. for underneath its leaves had grown several lettuce plants, who generally stress severely in the dry, sun scorched days of the high mountain desert. i did my best to ward off the aphids, but the kale told the truth. i harvested it all. we ate it, my friends and i, in great gratitude. the kale let its energy go where it could be best utilized. i aspire to do so much. if i have to slow down in the winter, so be it. let me live again in the summer, and let my rest give me energy to send in the best direction.

i planted an entire bed of kale today. happy solstice.