I could say the past year has been an interesting one for me on an existential level, if I were to put things in a positive light.
I keep having major life changes that seem to tell me, “Oh, you think that’s part of your personality, do you? Well what if we take it away? What’s left?”
First it was my love of fermenting. Having to switch from a gluten free diet to a GF, low histamine diet because of histamine intolerance (HIT) put an end to my fermentation hobby. Although fermentation is so fabulous for your gut, I simply couldn’t handle the excess histamine in this type of food and had to say, “see you later,” to this culinary pastime.
Shortly after this, in a quest to understand why I was histamine intolerant, I was diagnosed with SIBO. And my diet needed yet another adjustment.
I didn’t have much time to adapt to this new controlled-portion manner of eating before I discovered yet another problem – I was having issues breaking down oxalates and needed to refine my diet yet again. This time I had to say sayonara to my love of foraging and eating wild plants.
It hurt to have to shelve this interest, but again, I reoriented myself, and did a last minute tweak of my garden plan to grow a low oxalate garden.
These changes helped and though I had a few lingering symptoms I couldn’t figure out, I was adjusting to my annoyingly controlled manner of eating – calculating portions both for FODMAPS and for oxalates.
And not that long ago I even published a recipe for cranberry muffins here, saying essentially, at least I can still eat cranberries! Well, no more cranberries, at least for now.
Within the past month, yet another food chemical intolerance has threatened to ruin my food growing hobby once and for all. Sensitivity to salicylates (a natural food chemical in both cukes and cranberries, as well as most other fruits and veggies) has been making me sick, and I suspect this has been an on again, off again issue for many, many years.
And so I’m currently left with only a handful of fruits and veggies that are safe to eat in any quantity. I honestly don’t know whether to laugh or cry – most times I want to do both at the same time.
Perhaps even more disheartening than losing additional food options, I feel that this latest development is threatening to take away my passion for growing food. Sure I can still garden for the pollinators, but – hey! – I want to garden for me too!
There’s something giving me hope though, and my food loving soul is praying for it to be a sort of gustatory and gardening savior. I’m talking about chayote.
Chayotes are low to medium oxalate (depending on serving size), low in salicylates, and – are they low in histamine? That I don’t know yet. (Luckily, addressing my other food chemical intolerances has improved my histamine tolerance, so I don’t have to worry about that so much anymore.) Apparently, chayotes are low FODMAP at a serving size of one half cup or less, making them safe for SIBO.
Chayote – I’m putting all my hope into you! Do you want to be the star of my garden next summer? Please say you do.
Meanwhile, I have never tasted this vegetable and have no idea whether I’ll enjoy it or not… but beggars can’t be choosers, and at this point, yes, I’m begging!
That’s why I bought a big box of chayotes, am going to cook some of them up, and if all goes well, will save some for turning into garden plants next summer. An article published in Mother Earth News is my guide for getting started on this venture.
My high desert climate is not highly conducive to growing chayotes. Our growing season is short – by the time it’s officially fall, I’m usually ensconced in warm layers of wool. That means that these gourds will be getting an early start indoors.
But I am perhaps getting ahead of myself – first, the taste test.
Meanwhile, my existential journey into the meaning of self continues.
Does my experience show me there is some core at the center of my being that has nothing to do with my preferences or passions?
If my sense of self is tangled up in these impermanent things, how do I get to my deeper self? (Yes, I hear, you, it’s mediation, right? Or – there is no self???)
Perhaps I can find the answers at the center of a chayote pit.