reflections from the southeast PA rural underground
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
The Mexicans call them Comotes
Today was an October day. It started out with thick low gray cloud cover and by high noon the sun was blasting through Simpsons' white clouds. We all picked tomatoes during the morning and after a light snack, went right back at it. This time picking only the giant green under-ripe ones that we knew would ripen over the next week. They would not survive the expected frost that would come in the wee hours of tomorrow morning. Eric and I then got potato forks and prepared to harvest heirloom sweet potatoes. After cutting the thick green and purple tendrils from these South American and Asian root vegetables, we proceeded to dig ever so carefully through the plush composted soil to discover the bulbous, vein-skinned, peach and white colored gems. So compact and filled with the magical denseness of life and sun and earth. So pushed. So smooth. Are the perfect green leaves medicinal we wondered? The root vegetable must contain all the magic and immensity of the universe in its ruddy wonderful shape.