Solstice. Magic. Walnut sauce.

Travel

20 Dec

I walked the perimeter of my land, at night, on the shortest day of the year. I marked the corners with an offering and a moment of light — a flame burning briefly in the wet night — and something that will hold that point for some time, a little pole or altar. It needn’t be forever, in fact it’s better if it fades or is worn by time, like prayer flags, their threads dispersed gradually by the elements, spreading their intentions.

I am activating the boundaries, leaving something for the nature spirits, letting the spirit world know I am working with it. Sometimes the spirit world comes in the form of squirrels eating the offering I poured into a leaf cup. Sometimes it comes in the form of frost’s feathered patterns etched on the surfaces of things. Or a sense of beneficence. Or disturbance that wants to be righted such as a bug infested currant bush remedied by a mulch of good compost.

The spiritual is actually practical. It’s about where and when we place our attention.

The ‘when’ is important. Solstice night is a moment in the year when it’s very clear natural forces are drawn in, darkened. There’s less light, the plants are asleep, animals hibernate. When I align my actions with this pattern, I can tap into something greater than me and be renewed or enliven by it. Cultural traditions give us some fragments of the deeper currents; they are valuable indicators of what humans once knew. But to make a direct, personal tradition or ritual around this moment (or any other like the start of harvest season, your solar birthday, or Epiphany) feels fresh and poignant. As though it registers.

This night I put my attention on imbuing my land. Feeding it as it has fed me. I offered bubbly natural leaven, wine, kelp, and an infused oil. As well as incense. These were things I had, things that I’d produced with the help of my land, things that were rich. The kelp came from far away but represented water-mineral-plant in one form. The wine came from that exact spot on the land. The leaven represented microorganisms enlivening our food, and the sacrament of bread, symbolic of the body and the earth. The oil — fat — is like the gold of agriculture. High quality fats are what you aim to produce well: the delicate oils in wheat, or nuts, the beautiful omegas in pasture-raised lard… Fat is valuable nutritionally, and it’s relatively scarce. In this oil I had steeped the new, bright red, resinous buds of the cottonwoods that grow around the pond. It smells of honey and is my extrapolation of Balm of Gilead (a different species of poplar tree producing an ointment described in the Bible and having medicinal qualities).

As I began my circuit from behind the house and around toward the pond, a mist had risen turning the world milky. Tiny beads of moisture flew upward before the beam of my headlamp. But just then the moon resolved itself, bright white through the muddle. The air cleared, and there was the moon reflecting in the silky black water of the pond.

Coming in tired and cold, I made myself linguine with walnut sauce, a dish I remember eating in northern Italy.

I always try to find organic nuts — fresh, not sitting in the bulk bin — because oil (fat) is a carrier — it can carry the chemicals used in tree farming or easily go rancid. It also carries flavor. I crush a handful of walnuts to a paste with a mortar and pestle along with a clove of garlic, some salt. Boil the pasta in salty water. Heat a pan with a good glug of olive oil and gently sizzle the walnut paste for just a minute. I might add herbs like a leaf of basil or, in winter, the dried marjoram I have in a jar. Then I loosen the sauce with the hot pasta water. It turns milky, the nut oils emulsify and the flavors carry onto the vehicle of the pasta. Once al dente, I lift the linguine with tongs and slosh it into the sauce which adds a bit more salty, starchy water. Turn it in the pan, another drizzle of olive oil, and a good handful of parmigiano and into the plate. It should be creamy and a little rubbly, with the fragrance of walnuts and the herbs.