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Seasons of Food

Seasons of Food

In the musical Rent there's a song called "Seasons of Love" that poses the question, "How do you measure a year?" The chorus offers up various suggestions – daylights, sunsets, laughter and strife, cups of coffee, and so on – until deciding on love. Measure the year in seasons of love.

It works for the characters of Rent, but that's not the way I measure my life these days. If I measured in love, I supposed I'd be having on long, stifling, dry summer in the desert (not unlike summers in Turkmenistan), relieved by the oases of love that I find in friends and family back home.

I often have this song pinballing around in my head, and it's made me wonder how I measure the seasons of my life these days. And I've realized that it's come down to a much more tangible passage of time: I measure the year in fruit and vegetables.

Mandarin oranges are in peak season now – you can buy a kilo for a little less than a dollar. Lemons are also in season, though not for much longer. Pumpkins are still available and have become my favorite food (pumpkin and thyme is a fantastic flavor combination, by the by). Spinach is ubiquitous and cheap; Pop-Eye would weep for joy at the sight of bags upon bags of fresh spinach at the bazaar every Sunday.

And now it's time to begin planting potatoes again. My family has been spending mild days in the garden creating rows in which to plant their saved spuds. Come June apricots will ripen and that kicks off the summertime cornucopia of fruits and veggies from the garden straight to my mouth.

My diet here is much more in tune with the earth than it's ever been. And I feel a greater connection to the seasons as a result. Of course, it's possible to think of the year in terms of fresh produce at Home; I bet most farmers do. But does the wax and wane of ripe fruits cross the mind of the average American more than once or twice a year?

Certainly we know that foods have seasons: rhubarb in early summer, watermelon, strawberries, cantaloupe, tomatoes and sweet corn in midsummer and pumpkins in the fall. Living in a rural area and shopping at road sides stands help cultivate a sense of seasonality. And with people becoming increasingly involved with their food – where it comes from and how it's grown –we're experiencing a welcome shift to awareness of seasons. But we still have lemons and apples and oranges available every time we go to the grocery store. And the best way to develop an appreciation for tea with lemon is to only have lemons four months of the year.

We can always cheat. Buy something out of season if you really need it. In Turkmenistan we don't have that ability – I would call it a luxury but recently I've come to view it as an impediment – and it has changed the way I think about food. Here everything is seasonal. Fruits and vegetables come and go with the months. The meals you eat depend on what is available in the garden. It's a way of life that I hope I don't lose sight of when I return back to the land of refrigerated trucks bearing foods from afar.

Now, will I stop buying avocadoes? Well…no. But I do hope I'll garden. I hope I'll invest the time and money into feeding myself seasonally. Maybe I'll even build a greenhouse. As long as I want fruits and vegetables year round (and I do, my current winter diet is way too monochrome), they may as well come from my backyard rather than a country thousands of miles away.

Making foods from scratch is another good habit I've picked up. Homemade spaghetti sauce is so much more satisfying than red stuff from a jar with questionable ingredients. And in an effort to cut down on the number of granola bars my dad sends me, I made my own recently. Not only do I know all the ingredients that went into them, they were a) ridiculously easy to make and b) delicious. Too delicious even. And the granola that goes into those granola bars? Holy cow. I will never, ever buy granola again. My granola paired with my family's homemade yogurt is now my favorite dessert.

Who needs seasons of love? I choose seasons of fruit. It's a simpler way of thinking about the world, it's eco-friendly, and encourages us to pay closer attention to the earth that feeds and sustains us.

Updates and... more on food!

Hi all,

Tomorrow is the first day of Turkmen spring! And the weather? Overcast and cool. I am in Ashgabat -- got here on Friday morning to attend a concert given by the American embassy to celebrate Black History Month. It was awesome. Culture shock within Turkmenistan -- there was a jazz band! They were great!

Anyway, about my host sister: I shot from the hip. My emotional discourse about Bagul was made in good faith, but as with most things in Turkmenistan, issues are often many layered and convoluted. Nothing here is cut and dry. So what's the deal? Well it turns out that a) admission into bank school is three thousand dollars but students must pay an additional $100/month on top of that and b) the teachers institute is only two thousand dollars but it's located in a different region and she'd need to "buy" a new license to be able to move there.

This whole license business is a complicated mess. Once it became apparent that paying for school could be a major headache I talked to Bagul about her options. She's really interested in moving to Ashgabat or somewhere nearby and finding a job. She's got a well-connected relative in the city that has told her that he can get her a job if she moves here. And she's got relatives with whom she could live. The only problem is that Turkmen can't move around freely. You need this license and getting a new one is only possible under the table. Moving to Ashgabat involves at least $5000. Moving to a "suburb" costs less – about $2000. So my idea was to give Bagul money to move in with her aunt outside the city. That way she'd be able to work in the city and save money and get out of the village. Then I learn that her aunt's house is set to be bulldozed to make room for a new road and Bagul doesn't know where they're going to move or what their own license situation is going to be.

Further complicating issues, Collin, Summer and I had lunch with our former Turkmen language teacher on Saturday. She lives in Ashgabat, but her family doesn't have the license so she can't get a job and has to sit at home. Her husband is able to work because of some special permission. She told me that they tried to buy the license and offered ten thousand dollars and were turned down. I don't know if that was for her whole family of four or just the husband. And she told me that people living in villages near Ashgabat can't work in Ashgabat, which would totally defeat the purpose of Bagul moving.

UGH. Is there a pea at the bottom of this ever growing pile of mattresses? We need to do some sleuthing and get answers, but we're likely to continue hearing different answers from every source we talk to. And I guess that's what it all boils down to: you have to find the right people. If not? S.O.L.

Anyway, that's the latest on that story. I'll keep you posted as we clear away the cobwebs of confusion and bureaucracy.

In the meantime…more on food! Enjoy :)

Love,

Jess

Bagul is the eldest of two sisters

I love both my host sisters. They both have added love and laughter to my life in Turkmenistan. The youngest, Gulalek, makes me laugh but my bond is stronger with Bagul, the eldest. Bagul is 22 and studied at bank school a few years ago. She was supposed to grandfather into university, but whatever loophole they were going to use closed the year she finished. She returned home and that was that.

Bagul is not cut from the same cloth as most of these village girls. She is bright, determined, and worldly. She wants more from her life than to be someone's daughter-in-law. She wants to fall in love and not be married off to some random village kid. We've had discussions about homosexuality and Bagul serenely states that she thinks it's natural – a rare point of view among Turkmen. When I tell her that girls in America are able to date openly, that we can kiss boys and not be viewed as tainted goods, that we can wait until we are 30 or 35 to get married or never marry at all, she sighs and wonders aloud why she was born in Turkmenistan.

We've had a lot of discussions about her future. I know she's been trying in vain to get a job. There's just no work in the villages or in the larger towns nearby. If she had the chance she'd go to university... but there's no way she could ever afford the $30,000 price. Her more realistic goal is to study to be a teacher or do a few more years at bank school, but even then she can't scrounge together the two or three thousand dollars she'd need for tuition.

Her sister needs to study. The family is now saving money for Gulalek's tuition. The eldest son needs to pay two thousand dollars to get out of his compulsory military service. Then both brothers must marry and that costs another few thousand dollars. So while Bagul shows great promise, her mother simply says that there is no money for her. She already studied. Money is needed elsewhere. And, her mother adds, all Bagul's friends are getting married and having babies, so she should start thinking about that, too.

Bagul has been trying to save her own money. She sews dress after dress and yet still can't save enough. And as a job has been impossible to find, she's resigned herself to the fact that she probably won't get to study anymore. Now she tells me, "hopefully my children will have more opportunity."

It kills me. Especially now since she's given up on her dreams. And I get it. What good is hope when all odds are against you? When you've already tried and gotten nowhere? I understand her need to protect herself and shut down. Maybe it doesn't make her cry anymore, but after we had this discussion again last night, I left the room with angry tears stinging my eyes.

Sure, it wouldn't be sustainable to give her some money and if the village found out it would set a horrible precedent for future volunteers, but how can I sit here in my position of privilege and just watch this girl give up on her modest dreams? I know we can't help everyone, but what kind of person am I if I don't help those who I have the ability to help?