The word "Thanksgiving" may conjure up memories of your favorite stuffing and pumpkin pie, but along with those necessities, I like to harvest some healthy greens. and a main dish of gratitude. One way I provide all those offerings is to keep my veggie garden in shape.
Now, I realize if you live in a cold climate, you might be rolling your eyes. But if weather allows--or you have a greenhouse--here are some suggestions for providing both inner and outer sustenance for your loved ones.
When I had my major cancer surgery and was in the midst of the scariest, "will I live?" part of my journey, I developed an interesting fantasy. I lay in bed dreaming of a beautiful veggie garden in a structure that would protect it from enthusiastic desert critters. A friend brought me the perfect gift in response, a copy of Feng Shui in the Garden.
When I was well enough, my husband hired someone to build my garden, and when we moved to a new house, we built another one. For 15 years now, I've had some version of the "healing garden," the rectangular design described in the book. My first one was carefully mapped out, using all the right symbolic colors and flowers that would enhance my healing. Since then I've loosened up and lowered my standards, hoping mostly that we'll have enough to eat so that the produce averages less than $20 a pound.
This little hobby isn't always cheap. I've had the whole structure wrapped in narrow gauge wire, put in irrigation, flagstone steps, a bench, a door, and brought in loads of black gold soil and organic GMO-free plants. The birds, ground squirrels and gophers are creative, persistent and patient customers, who line up waiting for things to ripen to just the right degree. They don't eat the broccoli leaves, but wait for the production. Summer melons have yet to make it. And yet, I persist.
One reason is simply the pleasure of eating a salad from my own garden. It's not only pesticide-free, but it's fun to walk down to gather a sackful for dinner. I'm already picturing one with pears and beets to balance out the heaviness of other Thanksgiving goodies. Can't wait to get the grandkids to help me harvest all the greens.
The whole cycle creates gratitude, and that was the point of the holiday, as I recall. It was also the point when I built the garden, hoping I'd be able to use it for this many years. It's still the point today.
In your case, if you can't construct the healing garden, how 'bout a miniature? Plant a little rectangle for your kitchen window or a sheltered place on your patio. I put a statue of Quan Yin, the Goddess of Compassion in mine. She stands in front of the wild red rose, overlooking the strawberries. She reminds me to have mercy on all the elements and critters that make gardening a risky venture, pointing out that life is kind of risky in general. Better to shed a tear among the Asian greens and kale and pick a chrysanthemum for comfort, than to forget that thanksgiving is a practice for all year long.