Diary of My Country Life-November 6th, 2026

The original source of this blog: https://www.lotusandmichael.com/blogs/diary-of-my-country-life

11/06/2026 Friday 55-69F Cloudy 

Loofah is really an amazing plant. I don’t know how many values I can develop out of one loofah plant. Of course, we eat young loofah gourds; this year when the gourds were in their peak harvest season, I also sun dried some expecting to enjoy that touch of flavor in winter. Unexpectedly, I got five old gourds which I will let slowly dry for the sponge. Why unexpectedly? Because I didn’t mean to keep so many; one or two was my plan. But they were too good at hiding themselves here or there behind their large leaves, therefore finding all of them before they became too old to eat was almost impossible. Then one day when they were too big to hide and weighed down the vines, I just realized their existence. Ok, they won again, and one more sponge. 

Last year I also collected loofah sap as a facial toner. So did this time. I had four loofah plants, only the biggest one offered me about 6oz sap, the other three were too stingy. I divided the sap into two small jars, used it carefully--hopefully this amount can accompany us through the whole winter. Next March when my mume starts to bloom, I can use their flowers to make toner, though I still think loofah sap is better—it's thicker, and more nourishing.  

This year except for sun drying the extra loofah gourds, I tried two more new things with my loofah—after Frost’s Descent (the last solar term in fall), I cut down my loofah vines, saved the main stems, the tiny baby loofah gourds and the fresh flower clusters. I heard that loofah flowers and young leaves were very tasty, good for making tempura, stir-fries etc,. but I had never tried it before. Now with this year’s last loofah harvest, we could finally experiment on it: My husband made loofah flower pizza which tasted pretty good; and tomorrow I will stir fry the baby gourds with eggs—in fact the baby gourds taste like baby cucumbers, and the skin is tender so we don’t need to peel it. 

About the main stems, they were very strong. I rolled them up, left them in the sun to deteriorate the surface so the fiber can be further enhanced. I want to try them for tying loofah plants next year instead of building bamboo trellis or using ropes. Loofah should support other loofahs, like we should help each other 💪🏻. 

All the rest of the leaves and branches were useful too—I cut them up and spread them in my vegetable bed to nourish other vegetables. Soil to soil, my loofah plants came from little seeds, and every part of them has been devoted to us, to Nature. I feel very grateful. 

Not only were the loofahs diligent, so is my southern magnolia. Until now, it is still blooming in my backyard. This small tree, about ten feet high, probably has provided us a hundred flowers this year throughout the entire summer and fall. Yesterday it had five big buds, two are blooming today; tomorrow the temperature will start to drop. I don’t know whether they will have the chance to bloom or not. It is a rescued plant; we saved its life from one neighbor who dug it up to redesign his garden. Perhaps it knows it—since it came to our home, it has been working very hard, growing taller every year. Every time it blooms, wherever we go in the backyard, we can smell its signature musky scent in the air. On a rainy warm day like today, though tons of yellow leaves stick on the wet ground, its scent still easily makes me fantasize that I am in late spring. 

We also tried to take advantage of its white, large flowers—we made facial toner and shampoo with them; we braised the petals in beef stew; and next year when I have a larger harvest, I will try to make black tea with the fat petals.  

It seems that I always have a lot of plans for the coming future, and more plans have been executed—some failed; some exceeded my expectations. But with all the tries and putting my hands in dirt, I get to know Nature, and my plants better, just like the way we know a person: With our curiosities and persistency, we eventually start to build a reliable relationship, and one day we will knock open the door of his heart. 

Tomorrow will be the first day of winter (according to solar term), while fall is still reluctant to leave. All the trees, the plants are flaming now outside my window; and every day they look different from the day before—they become thinner, yellower or redder or oranger. The view is like a live painting; my window is the frame. I don’t think there’s any painter who can be so bold, so courageous, so creative and can have so many colors to pour onto his canvas to match how Nature does to her landscape. 

I gaze out of the window, always feeling so impressed by what I see. My words, my paints at these moments all become too weak and pale to express Nature’s beauty. I don’t need to do anything but just rejoice it, and try to etch it in my memory (cameras can’t detect or reflect the true beauty as well).  

Possessed by great awe and appreciation, all of a sudden, I wish my body could become the soil, or part of the soil, to nourish the plants. Because other than that, nothing else I can do for what I have been given, and Mother Nature can do all by Herself.