Spring. My meditations on the season began with the Vernal Equinox in March, but the flowers waited to unabashedly unfurl their petals in April . This period of rebirth coincided with Jellied Gold blooming anew on Substack. I’m so grateful you’ve made a little room in your inbox for me.
This special monthly issue, Gélatine, will make a regular appearance on the last Sunday of the month for my paid subscribers. I wanted you to get a taste before it’s formally on the menu. The great news is that if you refer readers to Jellied Gold, you can get Gélatine for free.
Thank you for being my dear reader!
I Made You Another Mix Tape
I told you, I’m really into you…
Liner Notes:
In the spirit of rebirth, this month’s playlist features new music released in April, paired with tracks that never get old. New stuff that I’m thrilled about includes a Vegyn remix of Air’s Kelly Watch the Stars and some Arcade Fire. Pareidolies from French duo Polo & Pan's new album, 22:22, made my month. The album is enjoyable from beginning to end, and the cover art is cool. This track, though, is my favorite.
And then there was Deepest. What? At first, I didn’t know what to do with this brand-spanking-new track from Orbital. It features Tilda Swinton guiding you through a meditation, or perhaps hypnotizing you. (If you don’t trust Tilda with your mind, see her in The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe or Suspiria.) It quickly went from being odd and confusing to taking its place as the star of my daily routine.
What I’m Growing
Nasturtiums ruled the month. They thrive in the cooler weather, self-sowing every year since I first introduced them. They’ll vanish completely in the withering heat that’s on its way. For now, I enjoy them as much as I possibly can. Poppies I planted last year have spread outside of their intended bed and are blooming beside renegade cosmos. My rotting jack-o-lanterns, tossed into a friendly flower bed last fall, have just given birth to little pumpkin seedlings. The berry brambles are budding, and the bees are out of their minds over the hot-lips sage and lavender.
Make it or Fake it
Naturtium Wraps
Ingredients
12–14 large nasturtium leaves
1 medium root vegetable- beet, carrot, or turnip
4 ounces goat cheese or cream cheese
¼ teaspoon freshly ground pepper
2 teaspoons herbs- fresh dill, chives, or tarragon, or dried herbs (or you could use a cheese spread that already has herbs added to it…)
Naturtium flowers for garnish
Instructions
Wash the nasturtium leaves and flowers. Pat the leaves dry, but be gentle with the flowers.
Wash your root vegetable. No peeling is necessary if it’s fresh and organic.
Julienne your root vegetable or spiralize it.
Mix the goat cheese with pepper and fresh or dried herbs with a fork.
Place nasturtium leaves on a cutting board or counter with the stem side up.
Scoop 1 slightly heaping teaspoon of the cheese mixture into the middle of each leaf (you know, use your eyes and adjust the amount to suit your leaf size).
Place about 3 slices of root vegetable on top of the cheese.
Gently roll it up and put a toothpick in it to hold everything in place.
Assemble on a serving plate or put them directly into your mouth.
What I’ve been Reading
Mountains of The Mind, Robert McFarlane
After serious reading in February and March (How to Stop a Conspiracy: An Ancient Guide to Saving a Republic, Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass, Waging a Good War,) I needed to unwind with my favorite landscape writer, Robert McFarlane.
Nothing is more soothing to me than reading stories about men losing all of their digits to frostbite or falling through a glacier. Mountains of the Mind was just what I needed. In it, McFarlane takes us on treks into the icy heights while exploring the idea of mountains. He walks us through the history of that idea and its evolution in Western thought, from mountains as permanent, inopportune obstacles to mountains as living, moving, temples of the sublime.
More than poetic, it’s also a dose of natural history. I enjoyed following along as the sciences of Geology and Palentology were wrestled into being, beginning with The Sacred Theory of The Earth. From Victorians pillaging cliff faces for fossils to Pandits, the Indian cartographer-spies employed by the British Empire, the book is littered with explorers, adventurers, naturalist, vacationers, and their frozen corpses.
This is what I love about McFarlane's writing: he takes me into awesome natural spaces while sharing morsels of history, fragments of poetry, and descriptions of art in Pulp Fictionesque flashbacks. I live vicariously through his books and learn a lot along the way. Underland and The Old Ways are also great, with Underland being the most terrifying. McFarlane goes where I definitely don’t want to go, but I do love reading about it.
“What makes mountain-going peculiar among leisure activities is that it demands of some of its participants that they die.”- Robert McFarlane, Mountains of the Mind
What I’m Watching
I love this video so much. I hope you do too.
Harvesting Heirloom Corn & Making Tortillas (Wood-ash Nixtamalization) by Homegrown Handgathered
They wrote a book: Homegrown Handgathered: The Complete Guide to Living Off Your Garden by Silvan Goddin and Jordan Tony
And Now For Some Vintage Jelly
Jelly published elsewhere in 2024…
EARTHED
When I close my eyes, I see dandelion leaves, the starburst of jagged green blades spread over the bark-covered earth. I dream about the roots of clover, long and white, delicately furred, covered in mycorrhizal fungus. They are so beautiful to me, these unwanted plants, the strange things I unearth with their roots.
The chore of weeding is a pleasure, actually, a joy so intense that the image of these things is emblazoned on the insides of my eyelids afterward. The dreamscape of my sleeping mind is built upon a branching mass of roots, cool and delicate. There is the tree of life, and then there is this: lace of life, underground, soft, web-like, understated. Understory is a pretty word for it, but stories have heroes and travel in one direction. This branches out in many directions.
There is no point. This pointlessness is mesmerizing, holds me suspended, both in waking as I work with my spade and later in dream. When I turn the bark over with my spade, I find mysterious white furs and flakes. Caterpillars crawl away from me. I spy mushrooms here and there. I have become Alice. Certainly, this is a wonderland of tiny live things, things that ask me pointedly, “Who are you?” As I decide their fates, I wonder. Then I know. I am the gardener.