The Sidebar: Scavenging Serenity, Finding Fractals in Nature, Collecting Grace

Plus: A fractal recipe — Roasted Romanesco with Crispy Lemon Breadcrumbs and Parmigiano Crumbles.

1.   Scavenging Nature

What do you collect? I used to collect ironstone china, McCoy pottery, and old Fiestaware. I always thought a dining room wall covered in white ironstone platters would be calming and interesting and minimalist and farmhouse-y all at the same time. That was back when I had the room – or the potential room — to entertain such ideas.

These days other than vintage glass bottles for flowers, most of what I collect I scavenge from the outdoors. It’s rather childlike I know, but I find hunting for beautiful objects in nature to be completely absorbing. Talk about tuning out the world! And when you tote your treasures home, you bring a reminder of that peaceful state with you.

When I look at my collections of sea glass or heart stones or scallop shells, I think about the hour I spent scouring the beach, gulping the salt air, listening to the gulls, stealing the sunshine. I don’t do this nearly enough. I am so friggin’ lucky to live near the beach (many beaches – it’s an Island, for God’s sake), and yet I’m reluctant to give myself the gift of the sea more often. I think it may have to do with my impatience, my constant battle with time, my reluctance to sit with myself, my desire for instant results.

If I were to slow down and sit still on the beach every so often, no telling what might come my way. Instead of hunting, I might be gathering. And not just objects.

“The sea does not reward those who are too anxious, too greedy, or too impatient. To dig for treasures shows not only impatience and greed, but lack of faith. Patience, patience, patience, is what the sea teaches. Patience and faith. One should lie empty, open, choiceless as a beach—waiting for a gift from the sea.”

– Anne Morrow Lindbergh, Gift From the Sea

It is much easier and quicker for me to head into the woods out my back door. Looking for instant gratification, I bend down to collect acorns and pinecones and rosehips and crispy fallen leaves and of course berries and wildflowers in season.

I scavenge in the garden, too. I am completely charmed by fallen flower petals, especially rose petals. I scoop them up and deposit them in little bowls to dry. I pluck seedheads like dried Queen Anne’s Lace and echinacea, harvest hydrangea blooms and strawflower and grass plumes, hang bunches of lavender and celosia. When they’re good and properly dry, I stow them all in various vases and pitchers, winter arrangements that remind me of summer — and the cycle of the seasons. It’s important that I hang on to these tokens, stretching the notion of growth and light as far as it will go.

2.  The Pleasure of Patterns and Multiples

When I was looking at my collections this week, I realized it’s not just the gathering of the objects that’s satisfying to me. Arranging them in groups, photographing them, and observing them, is mesmerizing. Have you ever noticed how soothing repetitive patterns are? And multiples of one object? Something about that repetition is calming. Psychologists say our attraction to pattern is evolutionary – it provides comfort, order, and predictabililty in a noisy, anxious world. It’s why adult coloring books (especially of mandalas) got popular during the pandemic.

In food photography, we call it shooting “multiples,” as opposed to a single serving or whole serving dish. It could be four soup bowls, or a tray of 20 roasted tomatoes, or a dozen crostini. But those shots — as opposed to single close-up shots that are all about the presentation — tend to draw you more towards the comforting rituals of cooking and the ultimate goal of feeding family and friends.   

Andalusian Gazpacho

Of course, graphic designers and artists know the power of repetition. Think of Claude Monet’s haystacks or Andy Warhol’s Campbell’s Soup Cans.

In fact, there is a long history of repeating geometric patterns in art, and there’s a cool word for it: tessellation. Tessellation is a repeated geometric shape that covers a surface. The name comes from tessera, the small stones and tiles used in mosaic work. You can find tessellation in your home in quilts, fabrics, and wallpaper.

The cool thing is that by collecting, arranging, and sometimes photographing our own favorite objects, we don’t have to simply look at someone else’s art. We can make our own and experience the calm and peace that comes with creating it as well as the joy of revisiting it.

3.  Most Fantastic of All— Fractal Patterns

What really blew me away when I ventured down the geometric rabbit hole of patterns and repetitions was the discovery that not all patterns are created equal. Oh no, my friends. There is something called a fractal pattern that is the bomb. If you think you don’t know what a fractal pattern is, you actually do. Nature is full of fractals. Think about the repeating rings in a pinecone, the sputtering repetition of cloud shapes on a sunny day, the patterns of cracks in a sun-baked bed of mud or clay, the leaves of a fern, the veins in a leaf, the way trees branch in Ys and Vs ad infinitum. Succulents. Snowflakes. Nautilus shells.

Fractals are patterns that repeat themselves endlessly.

And guess what — all those ball-shaped dahlias? Fractals! That’s why they’re so fascinating.

Not just fascinating – comforting, too. An article in Psychology Today noted that many studies have found that exposure to fractal patterns in nature can reduce stress by up to 60 percent. No wonder I wander out to the garden to stare at the dahlias when I’m particularly anxious. Putting a bunch together is even more appealing. Apparently the physical reason for this is a physiological resonance within our eyes. We can thank mathematician Benoit Mandelbrot (who coined the word fractal) and his groundbreaking book, The Fractal Geometry of Nature, for exposing what he called the self-similarities in nature. (As you can imagine – or maybe you’re already on to this — this goes way beyond cloud formations, deep into the cosmos.)

If you need instant stress reduction from fractals, try blowing bubbles!

Best of all, you can eat your fractals, too. Ever seen the gorgeous chartreuse Romanesco? It’s technically a broccoli, but one more akin to cauliflower. And the patterns of its florets are fractal – each new one that forms is the same, mathematically, as the one before it.

So naturally, I had to give you a Romanesco recipe this week! (See below and also see this Stir-Fried Romanesco with Garlic, Lemon & Parmigiano. )

4.  Collecting Quotes and Coins

Leaving fractals aside for a minute, I wanted to hop briefly back to collections and mention a few other things I collect. You know about two of them: books and quotes. Even better – books of quotes. One in particular I love. I came across it when I was rooting around my shelves looking for something else, of course. It’s an old favorite called Grace: Quotes & Passages for Heart, Mind and Soul, by B.C. Aronson.  She begins with this introduction, calming any fears that her definition of grace will be limited:

Grace takes on many forms. For some, grace is forgiveness and kindness. For others, grace is elegance and class. For those who are religious, grace means God’s grace, a state of love and mercy. For all, grace represents a state of being that transcends the ordinary and makes us more understanding, more loving, and more dignified.

There are so many gems in this book, including many that meant a lot to me when I was struggling in early sobriety. I think I’ll begin by sharing this one with you and include more in Sidebars going forward:

Grace means more than gifts. In grace, something is transcended, once and for all overcome. Grace happens in spite of something; it happens instead of separateness and alienation. Grace means that life is once again united with life, self is reconciled with self. Grace means accepting the abandoned one. Grace transforms fate into a meaningful vocation. It transforms guilt to trust and courage. The word grace has something triumphant in it.

—    Yrjö Kallinen, Finnish writer and politician

One last thing I collect: sobriety coins. My current coin (16 years) is usually in my pocket; the rest are in a pretty ceramic bowl my best friend gave me. Someday I hope I’ll need a bigger bowl.

5.  Roasting Romanesco, The Fractal Veggie

Roasted Romanesco with Crispy Lemon Breadcrumbs and Parmigiano Crumbles

This dish is all about a generous amount of crispy crumbs and Parmigiano “pebbles.” To make Parmigiano pebbles or crumbles, chop chunks coarsely in a food processor with the chopping blade. Do not use a grater. If you wanted to enhance the crumbs even more, you could add a little freshly chopped garlic or minced anchovy to the butter before adding the crumbs. Once the Romanesco is roasted, top it and serve it right away.

Serves 3 to 4 as a side dish

• 1 head Romanesco

• 3 tablespoons olive oil

• Kosher salt

• ½ cup fresh bread crumbs

• 1 tablespoon unsalted butter

• 1 generous teaspoon freshly grated lemon zest

• ¼ cup very coarsely ground (in a food processor) Parmigiano Reggiano (result should be like small pebbles)

• 1  tablespoon roughly chopped fresh parsley

1.     Heat the oven to 425 degrees F. Cover a large heavy-duty rimmed baking sheet with aluminum foil. Arrange a piece of parchment over the foil.

2.     Trim any outer leaves from the Romanesco and cut it into 1-inch florets, each with at least one flat side. I find it easiest to cut the Romanesco across into 1 inch slabs, separate obvious pieces, and cut away the remaining tough central stem from the other slabs to create remaining florets. You will have some tiny Romanesco florets you can save to put in a salad or use another way. 

3.     Transfer the florets to the baking sheet, add the olive oil and ½ teaspoon salt and toss well to coat thoroughly. Spread out on the pan.

4.     Roast the florets for 23 to 25 minutes, rotating the sheet pan once if your oven has hot spots, or until deeply browned in spots on the bottom sides.

5.     Meanwhile, melt the butter in a medium nonstick skillet over medium-low heat. When bubbling, add the breadcrumbs and a big pinch of salt. Cook, stirring, for 4 to 5 minutes, or until the crumbs have shrunken, are crisp, and are lightly browned. Remove the pan from the heat and let the crumbs cool.

6.     Mix and stir the lemon zest into the cooled crumbs.

7.     Transfer half of the Romanesco to a shallow serving dish and sprinkle with half of the lemon crumbs, the Parmigiano crumbles and the parsley. Repeat with the remaining Romanesco, lemon crumbs, Parmigiano and parsley. Toss gently if you like. Serve right away.