The garden is winding down. The tomatoes are slowing. The cucumbers are done. But the herbs persist — dill and parsley and chives — and the rhubarb had a late-season burst that I picked and froze for winter pies.
I spent Saturday putting the garden to bed. Pulling spent plants, mulching, turning compost. The work is the same every year. My hands in the same soil, the same beds, the same routine. But this year the garden felt different — more important, more sacred, as if the act of tending growing things while the man in the house is declining is not just gardening but a statement of intent. Things grow. I grow things. The growing continues.
Paul was on the porch, watching. The ventilator hissing. The eye-tracking device glowing. He typed: "THE GARDEN LOOKS GOOD." I said, "It was a good year." He typed: "EVERY YEAR IS A GOOD YEAR." The machine said it. I looked up from the compost. Every year is a good year. Even this year. Even the year of the ventilator and the feeding tube and the voicelessness. Every year is a good year because the alternative to a year is no year, and Paul — Paul who has been studying the years of other people's lives for thirty-three years, who knows the exact year the Fitzgerald sank and the Bannockburn vanished and the Mataafa wrecked — Paul knows that every year, no matter what it holds, is a good year.
Every year is a good year.
Anna called with news: Sophie is starting her senior year. Her final year of nursing school. She'll graduate in May 2020 with her BSN. She'll be a nurse. Three generations.
I told Paul. He typed: "MAY 2020. I'LL BE THERE." I looked at the screen. May 2020. Eight months away. The timeline says two to five years. We're at two. May 2020 is possible. May 2020 is — I can't calculate this. I won't calculate this.
I said, "You'll be there."
I made a late-summer dinner: zucchini from the garden, the last ones, roasted and pureed with Parmesan. For Paul: the puree through the cup, five minutes of taste. For me: the roasted pieces, whole, golden from the oven. The same vegetable, two forms. Same garden. Same love.
Paul tasted it and typed: "GARDEN IN A CUP AGAIN." I said, "You and your cups." He typed: "THE WORLD FITS IN A CUP WHEN THE CUP IS RIGHT."
The world fits in a cup. The garden. The lake. The spring. The blueberries. The zucchini. All of it, pureed and thickened, held in my hands, brought to his lips. The world, reduced to what he can swallow. And still enough. Still, somehow, enough.
Every year is a good year. The world fits in a cup. Paul at his porch. The sparrow in the birch.
Enough.
The zucchini are what started it—the last ones from the garden, roasted golden and pureed with Parmesan—but this soup has become my late-season ritual, a way to bring whatever the garden offers into something Paul can taste from a cup and I can eat in a bowl at the same table. Sweet potato gives it body; the other vegetables give it the earthy, honest warmth that smells like the garden still does, even after I’ve put it to bed. When Paul typed “THE WORLD FITS IN A CUP WHEN THE CUP IS RIGHT,” I thought: yes, and this soup is one of those cups.
Creamy Sweet Potato and Veggie Soup
Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 30 min | Total Time: 45 min | Servings: 6
Ingredients
- 2 tablespoons olive oil
- 1 medium yellow onion, chopped
- 3 cloves garlic, minced
- 2 medium carrots, peeled and diced
- 2 stalks celery, diced
- 1 medium zucchini, diced
- 2 large sweet potatoes (about 1 1/2 lbs), peeled and cubed
- 4 cups low-sodium vegetable broth
- 1 cup water
- 1/2 teaspoon smoked paprika
- 1/4 teaspoon ground nutmeg
- 1/2 teaspoon dried thyme
- Salt and black pepper to taste
- 1/3 cup grated Parmesan cheese, plus more for serving
- 2 tablespoons heavy cream or half-and-half (optional)
- Fresh parsley, chopped, for garnish
Instructions
- Saute the aromatics. Heat olive oil in a large heavy-bottomed pot over medium heat. Add onion and cook, stirring occasionally, until softened and translucent, about 5 minutes. Add garlic and cook 1 minute more until fragrant.
- Add the vegetables. Stir in carrots, celery, and zucchini. Cook for 4–5 minutes, stirring occasionally, until the vegetables begin to soften at the edges.
- Add sweet potato and liquid. Add the cubed sweet potato, vegetable broth, and water. Stir in smoked paprika, nutmeg, and thyme. Season with salt and pepper.
- Simmer until tender. Bring the soup to a boil, then reduce heat to medium-low. Cover and simmer for 18–22 minutes, until the sweet potato is completely fork-tender.
- Blend until smooth. Remove the pot from heat. Using an immersion blender, blend the soup until silky and smooth. Alternatively, carefully transfer in batches to a blender and blend on high, then return to the pot.
- Finish and season. Return the pot to low heat. Stir in Parmesan and cream, if using. Taste and adjust salt and pepper. If the soup is thicker than you’d like, stir in additional warm broth or water a splash at a time.
- Serve. Ladle into bowls (or a cup, when the cup is right). Top with a little extra Parmesan and a scatter of fresh parsley.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 185 | Protein: 5g | Fat: 7g | Carbs: 27g | Fiber: 4g | Sodium: 310mg
About the cook who shared this
Linda Johansson
Week 177 of Linda’s 30-year story
· Duluth, Minnesota
Linda is a sixty-three-year-old retired nurse from Duluth, Minnesota, living alone in the house where she raised her children and said goodbye to her husband. She lost Paul to ALS in 2020 after two years of watching the kindest man she'd ever known lose everything but his dignity. She cooks Scandinavian comfort food and Minnesota hotdish and the pot roast Paul loved, and she sets two places at the table out of habit because it makes her feel less alone. Every recipe she writes is a person she's loved.