Coriander

In the south, cilantro can live outside through the winter. That's when it does best. When the weather warms it sprouts up and turns into what it always is, coriander.

We had a bunch of these plants along the edge of our vegetable garden. They were tall and gangly and heavy at the top with seed ponds. I wanted to keep them there and harvest the fresh pods for cooking (because you can't buy that flavor, apparently), but I never told my husband this and he pulled the plants out to clean up the garden.

Still, I harvested some of the pods off the pulled plants, catching them just before or as they were drying out. I started doing this as I pushed my daughter in her swing and soon enough she didn't want to swing, she wanted to help me pull coriander ponds. Her fingers are the right size, but she didn't quite get the leverage you need to establish by holding on to the stem.

Today we went to church as a family. And although this may seem to have nothing to do with coriander and coriander may seem to have nothing to do with alcoholism, stick with me here, there is a point. The church we went to was new to us, we'd never been to this church or a church of this denomination (strange how that word almost has the word demon spelled outright inside it, a bit uncanny). Anyway, during the reverend's sermon she talked about how she always imagined the manna that came from the sky to feed the Israelites as a ready to eat feast that was easily received with quick joy and gratitude, but that the truth she had read of earlier this week is that the manna was actually ground coriander combined with a sticky substance that the Israelites had to work and sweat over before they were able to consume it as food.

Being mostly (entirely?) outside the faith, this explanation of the story made a lot more sense to me. It de-miraclized the story. Now, instead of food falling straight from god to the people's mouths, there was human effort involved. This also sheds some light on a topic I've written of in the past, about what to take personal responsibility for and what to "Let go and let God". Essentially, the story - and the reverend's retelling of it - tells me that God (or my version of a higher power) does not spoon feed me or give me a finished product. Only the materials are offered. And aren't we all offered these materials when we are offered life. We've got the coriander and the sticky what-ever-it-is and if we make something edible, make a life that will nourish us, then all right. If we don't make lumpy bread-ish stuff then we cannot blame anyone but ourselves.*

Additionally, even when they had the materials it took the Israelites a while to make food from it. So the word patience, comes rearing its' continually present head. You have to see what you've got to work with and have the patience to turn it into something that will sustain you. The vision and fortitude necessary for seeing and making the best of your reality are not always easy to find or develop. And not everything in life can be made into manna.

For example, in some ways I can see and appreciate that my husband's alcoholism is an opportunity for me to take my life into my own hands, develop the strength that I will need for life regardless of what he does or if we stay together. But just because I can use this as an opportunity does not mean that if he continues to drink and lie that I need to stay with him and continue to try to make a family life with what he's offering as a partner. Because the fact is coriander is quite nutritious - has many health benefits - so the Israelites were given something they could work with and survive by. With beer, although it is called the "sweet nectar of the Gods," there just isn't as much to sustain - the best it's got is 1% of your daily value of Niacin.



*(although, I do realize that I am writing this from a very privileged background and that in some places, many places, in the world, food or lack of food is much more a dire battle with reality than a convenient metaphor).