The perishable paradigm

Visitors to Andrew Jackson Downing’s home recall his habit of putting a flower on their breakfast plate that he knew to be his guest’s favorite. What a lovely, civilized act. Of course, breakfast in a mid-nineteenth century gentleman’s home on the Hudson is a bit different from the typical mad scramble of the over-worked American family facing a long commute to an uncertain job. For Downing, this was a reminder that life is more than unending labor; also important is leisure and its display.

My mother did something similar. Often her day would start with picking a single bloom and placing it in a bowl of water knowing full well that it would fade by the end of the day, and then the cycle would have to be repeated. For her, that flower represented all that was beautiful, especially the fleeting things that are so difficult to capture in design. No matter her worries – and she had many – taking a moment to bring a fragile blossom into her world was time well spent.

Recently, the Garden and Landscape Studies program at Dumbarton Oaks in Washington hosted a symposium on food and the city. Presentations covered many aspects of food production, delivery and consumption over the last few centuries and across many cultures. Unfortunately no one seemed to address a key issue:  what is food? If you ask a nutritionist, whose expertise was not included with these scholars, the ideal response might be a list of nutritional plants, organically grown in local farms that are readily available to people where ever they live. No fast food, engineered varieties, hormone-laden animals, corn-based sugar products or even restaurant fare would come to their mind. And then these fruits and vegetables would want to be carefully and slowly prepared, mindfully eaten with family in a relaxed manner, and with gratitude for the sense of calm and well-being that surely emerges.

Is this possible? Well, yes. Just as Downing found that a little consideration only took moments to execute engendering feelings that lasted all day, bringing perishable food onto our tables requires thinking a little differently: a paradigm shift from days full of business, distractions and attending to our needs in the most convenient, although unsatisfying manner to valuing the perishable. The effort to do this might be bundled with other aspects of our lives: spending time with family and friends, committing to work projects of significance, and amusing ourselves with only the best cultural productions. Attaching too much importance to the quantity of commitments produces only a false sense of accomplishment as getting through the day is a heroic achievement. Perhaps the lessons from the recent recession and our new understanding about making more sustainable choices means attending to fewer things, but insisting they be of quality. To value the perishable then may require recalibrating our expectations, but it would also support more appreciation for what is possible in dwelling . . . well.