I wrestled with a winter squash tonight.
I was making ribollita, a hearty Tuscan vegetable stew, for dinner, and as I worked my way through that stubborn exterior, I couldn’t help thinking how much easier it would have been to open a package of already-cut squash.
I quickly dismissed the thought, as l love all the different colors, shapes and flavors of winter squash that are available. In the bag, there's typcially just butternut. Tonight I cut up a red kabocha–it's dense velvety texture and sweet potato/pumpkin like flavor make it one of my favorites.
Earlier this week, I made pumpkin purée from a whole pumpkin because I wanted pumpkin oat waffles for breakfast.
Would canned pumpkin have tasted noticeably different?
Probably not.
And yet, I always find there is something strangely satisfying about cutting open the pumpkin, roasting it and turning it something crave worthy.
I’m realizing there are quite a few things I choose to do the less efficient way.
I've rarely bought bread since I retired. As I write this, I have a batch of pumpernickel sourdough bagels rising in the kitchen.
Curt has always been proud of the dinners he can get on the table in "15 minutes or less". I tend to move in the opposite direction. Give me an involved recipe that requires being the kitchen for an hour or so and I’m perfectly happy.
I’ve also been saving seeds from the garden this year.
Peas. Calendula. Basil.
The basil actually stabbed me hard enough to draw blood as I rubbed the dried flower heads between my fingers trying to extract those tiny seeds.
I could buy a packet of basil seeds next spring for a few dollars and save myself the trouble.
But I don’t want to.
Because when those tiny seeds push through the soil next spring, I know I’ll feel so proud of myself.
The same was true of the tomato plant I tucked into a sunny corner beside our house this year. The plant was huge and took up valuable space. It needed lots of water and attention. And each week we were rewarded with ONE juicy ripe tomato.
Not exactly an impressive return on investment they sure tasted pretty wonderful.
More and more, things are designed to save us time and effort.
Groceries arrive at our doors in ways that dinner can be ready in minutes. We have a question, we can get an instant answer from Google. It truly is amazing what technology can do for us now.
I suppose there was a time in my life where I would have appreciated having my groceries dropped off instead of feeling my stress level rise as my son grabbed for yet another can off the shelf as soon as my attention was diverted.
But these days, there are some things I just don’t want to make easier.
Sometimes the effort is part of the good part.
There is satisfaction in making something with our hands. In watching it transform. In knowing where it came from. And in feeling capable of being able to do create something good.
I'm not saying we should reject convenience, but...
...maybe it’s about choosing it intentionally.
I still look for ways to save myself time and be more efficient—but I'm keeping a little inefficiency in the places the places that brings me joy.
I've talked a lot about slow living in recent years, but
the goal isn't to make life slow. It's to have enough agency over your time that you can decide what deserves to be slow.
So here’s a question worth asking yourself this week:
What in my life could I make easier or faster…but don’t want to?
Your answer might tell you something about where some of the richness in your life is hiding.
With love, Julie
I allow time for the things that make life richer.
What We Loved This Week
www.jmbliving.com