THE JOY OF BEING A QUARANTINE CLICHÉ
I didn’t start gardening until I moved to Brooklyn two summers ago. In Florida, I had a large yard with plenty of room for a multi-rowed garden, but it is here, where I walk by restaurant after restaurant, multiple grocery stores and bodegas, and with barely any yard space that I share with 5 other apartments that I decided to actually do it. With the help of a my daughter’s green-thumbed friend, I bought the necessary supplies, stuck my hands in soil, and planted tomatoes, collards, bell peppers, chili peppers, and a variety of lettuces. Some failed, others succeeded, and along the way I learned new things about my environment, such as the difference between insects that are helpful and other that are harmful to the growth.
In a New Yorker article The Tonic of Gardening in Quarantine, garden aficionado Charlotte Mendelson writes that “even if you have the smallest space, a pot on a window ledge, a front step, a wee yard, there is no balm to the soul greater than planting seeds.” And in line with gardening’s healing properties, she suggests acts such as pickling, baking, and dehydrating foods are an “almost necessary act for maintaining sanity” during this time.
My habits during the COVID-19 stay-at-home order, evidenced by Instagram and popular news outlets, are like many others. I learned to make sourdough at the same time I learned to garden, and I take pleasure in the 3-day process that results in delicious loaves. But, I’ve also begun making tortillas, pickling vegetables, and making cold brew. Yesterday my daughter and I ordered probiotics with several strains of Lactobacillus bacteria in hopes of making a better non-dairy sour cream, and last week’s purchase of a Singer sewing machine has led me to consider, not if, but why I’m a quarantine cliché. Why are so many of us drawn to similar ways of coping through a pandemic? Are we drawn to these things because of social media, or does social media just make us aware of the things we share with others? And, contrary to what we’re taught to think about clichés, is it really all that bad to be one?
Like many people, I’ve always found joy in food, and it serves many purposes in my life. Before the time of masks and social distancing, roaming markets and grocery stores produced calm-inducing effects in me. I enjoy cooking, and I’ve passed down this pleasure to my daughter who creates meals so delicious that I feel like I’ve birthed a genius. When there are too many items on my to-do list and I’m unsure of what to do first, I ward off productivity paralysis by cooking. Interestingly, the success of this approach is most effective when I have the least amount of food in my home. It’s the puzzle of figuring out what to add to the few remaining potatoes, the last bit of noodles, or the small number of turnips leftover from the CSA that relaxes me and brings my attention back to focus.
In a 2011 Wired article, Jonah Lehrer observed that “one of the many paradoxes of human creativity is that it seems to benefit from constraints.” Lehrer refers to a study led by Janina Marguc at the University of Amsterdam that determined that obstacles can lead to the “unexpected psychological perk” of expanded thought processes that lead to greater creativity. In other words, by working under limitations, creativity is heightened, allowing us to consider “a greater range of possibilities and ideas.” I admit that the connection I’m making between the limitations of quarantine and pickling radishes as creative expression may seem far-fetched, but stay with me. It’s the need to create that I share with my bread baking, gardening, and sewing cohorts. And these things also share a connection to each other in that they are considered a part of homemaking in the most modern way that this out-dated term can call to mind.
The sewing machine purchase isn’t completely out-of-the-blue. My mother is an avid seamstress and growing up there was always a sewing machine in the house. Our Halloween costumes were spectacular, and when I was young she taught me to sew pillows in the shapes of unicorns, cats, and Miss Piggy (my favorite). As a new mom, I made pillows and curtains with her guidance. Now, waiting for the machine to arrive, I’m imagining making more pillows, curtains, and high-waisted, wide-legged linen pants. She recently began quilting, and we had a conversation about the pleasure she takes in the learning a new skill each time, in imagining the outcome. She has no interest in making two of the same things; it’s the creativity involved that brings her joy.
Originality is celebrated, but during this time of social distancing and separation, I take comfort in knowing that there are others—many, many others—who respond similarly to our new confinement. And in our like-minded approaches, there’s room for our individual expressions. Our limitations have allowed us to shift focus to home, to using our hands, to creating, to playing in soil and watching what will sprout. With our shared interests we form community and an awareness that we are more alike than we ever acknowledged. Recognition, familiarity, and simple joys make us feel safe when we need it most. With full acceptance of the cliché I’ve become, I’ll happily post my food photos and will keep an eye out for yours.
