August = Allowing

I feel like this August is about allowing. Allowing things to work out without pushing or forcing.

Like what?

Allowing plants to grow, blossom and die down — sending their energy back into the earth and releasing their seeds to grow again.

Allowing the return of energy expended.

Allowing yourself to focus and get things done.

Allowing space for quiet time.

Allowing time to cook and care for yourself.

If you like to ferment, fermentation is an allowing of experimentation, trust and adventure. When you marinate and season your food, you allow the flavors to penetrate and soak in. If you enjoy baking bread, you already know to allow the yeast to react with the starches and sugars, letting the complexity develop and the bread rise. When making soup, simmer it on low for an entire afternoon to bring out all of the flavors. Have you ever noticed how homemade soup tastes better the next day? The same goes for sauces; stir slowly and gently over a low fire. Let the aromas build up and waft out of the kitchen, into the next room, creating both anticipation and memories. Allow.

I guess that what I’m really feeling this August has to do with letting go, another form of allowing.

This year both of my kids are going away to college. It was easier last year because my youngest was still home in high school. Now, it’s about to be an empty nest for real. And on one hand we are all excited, shopping for new clothes, tools, supplies, a car...but on the other, I’m also looking at new wall paint. I'm dreaming of finally fixing the cracks in this old house we live in. I’m looking forward to cleaning out all of the closets, even though I know I will cry as I go through the memories.

A very young and wise friend just recently shared her discovery that it is actually beautiful to cry. Tears are a deep and intimate form of allowing. Allow yourself to feel everything, the difficult and the easy. Everything. Savor your August this year, allow its heat and humidity to become a part of you, because before you know it…winter is coming.

—Chef Christine Moss, The Garden Cafe Woodstock