This poem by Christina Rossetti, was on a poster in daughter Katie's pre-school bathroom in New York City, where we lived for a year. She loved for me to read it to her, whenever we were in there together. I was reminded of it the other day, when taking part in the 'garlic harvest' at the CSA farm we belong to here in the Berkshires. About ten of us were busy pulling garlic bulbs from the ground, rubbing the dirt off of the roots, and gently laying them in piles, to be brought up to the barn and then dried by hanging from the rafters. We harvested the very garlic that will sustain all the members of the farm throughout the season -- it shouldn't run out until February or so.
Almost every garlic bulb I wrenched from the ground had a wriggly earthworm or two snuggled up against the roots. At first I was a bit squeamish, after all I wasn't even wearing gardening gloves. But I quickly got used to ushering the little guys out of their erstwhile homes and back into the glorious dirt below. Sometimes I had to pull, poke and prod, and once or twice I pulled too hard, and felt bad. Mostly, they emerged unscathed. The only critter I had to dispense with on purpose was a bright white nasty grub -- actually, I asked one of the farm apprentices to do the deed.
I am looking forward to cooking with the few garlic scapes I scrounged, and I also have two bulbs that were bruised in the harvest and couldn't be stored with the others. They are patiently waiting to be made into something delicious... perhaps sauteed with escarole tonight?
Hurt No Living Thing
Hurt no living thing:
Ladybird nor butterfly,
Nor moth with dusty wing,
Nor cricket chirping cheerily,
Nor grasshopper so light of leap,
Nor dancing gnat, nor beetle fat,
Nor harmless worms that creep.
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