by
Jean Hughes
August 12, 1996
August has a green scent. Parts of my roadway and all of my woods' paths are green tunnels. There is always a lush-green lull before the purple and gold of late summer flash across the land. I see a hint of it today.
Like a prismatic wave, the seasons flow in and out of the hills. The first flowers of spring are small and begin deep in the woods. Flower color creeps out to the roadsides as stalks grow taller and taller. The first color in the leaves begins along the roadsides and creeps slowly through the trees, back into the deepest hollows. August is the crest.
Wild provisions astonish me. I don't have to do a thing but gather them. They are like manna from the earth -- no less miraculous than if they came out of the sky.
This patch has whetted my appetite and I start my rounds of places in the fields and beside the creeks to look for more ripe berries. It is hot and my troops have deserted me. But I do not mind. I want only happy companions in the woods. It is easy to find a reason not to go into the wild places.
Too hot, too cold, too young, too old,
Too wet, too dry, too deep, too high,
Too weak, too strong, too short, too long,
Too soft, too loud, too lax, too proud,
Too slight, too vast, too slow, too fast,
Too small, too great . . . too soon too late.
I ramble up the hill and into the hidden pasture behind my house. The wildflowers are above my head and the brambles are as thick as a fence. I wish I could fly. It would be pleasant to hover above the briars and look for berries. Summer strangles my sight and tugs and tears at me with every step. I always think that just over the next rise there is sure to be a big patch of berries.
To get home, I struggle through tangles of jewelweeds and tall green stalks. I tumble down, but the flowers make a soft cushion. This is like being in a deep hammock. I turn over and look up into a circle of sky. The orange jewelweeds decorate the walls of my green cavern. It is stifling here, but a small price to pay to lie in a bed of wildflowers. Ahhhhhh! Summer!
Saute until tender in 2 T. olive oil: 3 - 6 to 8 inch unpeeled, sliced zucchinis and 2 medium sliced onions. Make a stiff dough using: 1 1/2 cups flour, 3 pkgs. yeast softened in 1/4 cup very warm water, 2 T olive oil, 1/4 cup warm milk and 1/2 t. salt. Knead 10 minutes. Cover and let rise in a warm place for 3 hours. Press dough onto a large sheet cake pan or cookie sheet. Cover dough with: 15 oz. pizza sauce, 1 t. fresh oregano chopped fine and the cooked vegetables. Top with: 8 oz. mozzarella cheese and 1/4 cup grated parmesan. Bake at 425o for about 18 minutes.
This week I learned that there was a mythical Greek god who only had his power when his feet were touching the ground. To come up with that idea, someone had to feel as I do about the touch of the earth. These people of long ago had a god for everything, even a dew drop! They were trying to understand the miracle of life on earth.
Ideas evolve, so perhaps our fingertips touch across time, for I, too, see the Creator's hand in every beautiful living thing.
Jean's book of ramblings and recipes "A Country Mile of Winter" and her book of poetry "The Earth's My Home" are available for $4.95 each plus $1.30 for postage and handling. Ten of Jean's favorite recipes will be included free with each book ordered. Order from...
Country Mile Publications
616 E. Monroe
Delphi, IN 46923