Of the Root Cellar Finished and Dandelions

I finished the root cellar yesterday.

After getting the black plastic it was pretty easy to put up the log walls and a simple roof. All I have to do now is cover it with earth again and it will be ready to go for the winter.

Speaking of food preservation, I have been experimenting with smoking fish in a little smoker that I borrowed from St. Godric’s, but I think my next building project will be a real smokehouse. I suspect that hunting will be decent enough throughout the winter, but I do want to have something just in case. Of course I will also dry meat and can vegetables. (Can you can meat as well? I suppose you could...)

I tried dandelion greens as a side dish last night – pan fried with onions and garlic. They’re not bad. They are not good, but they are not bad either. Perhaps I should try canning them?

I used to think a lot about dandelions when I lived in the suburbs - kind, gentle creatures. Beautiful. Children love them. In the better part of ourselves, we all love them. We've just forgotten. (That's one of the things I came out here to remember.) And yet in their kind, gentle, beautiful way they draw down upon themselves the never ending wrath of the ChemLawn minions. I’ve actually seen grown men speak with real anger of dandelions in their bluegrass. This hatred of dandelions and preference for is another of the things belonging to the world of the Rooted Folk that I simply refuse to comprehend.

Sometimes in the spring, about this time of year, I would pick bunches of dandelion seed heads and walk through the neighborhood blowing them into the wind like a Johnny Appleseed of the weeds. Or I would pick a bunch of the yellow flowers, tie a red ribbon around them and leave them in random mailboxes.

In my clearer-headed moments, I knew that I couldn't beat ChemLawn. It's too big. Too pervasive. Too many people are in too deep. But it made me happy to try and the children always understood. And that leaves room for hope.