when ever I chop anything--the bits and ends and odds...into the bag.
The carcass of one of the two turkeys the Stevens' enjoyed, and a sack
of frozen compost....
bubbling and steeping.
Filling my little space with the wonderful smell of comfort.
I love making stock.
The reduction of it all...the time that it takes, to make it good.
That something so wonderful comes from time, and trash.
The metaphor filling my home with warm smells...
Patience is all that is required.
To gather the bits and pieces, to not throw away moments.
No matter how small. Put them in the bag.
Each stem, every odd, every end.
And the bones.
Saved, their value is not the moment
but all the moments gathered.
Steeping and bubbling with skin and bone and stem.
When it is finished......when the long rolling liquid has been nurtured
and cooked down, and strained clear?
It is only the beginning, of something else.
In the end, what one has....is a base.
Ready for anything.