Farmers know the joy of the final days of summer when all seems to pull the plug on the hesitation of becoming –and explodes into bountiful harvest. We experienced that here late this summer.
Even without ample hands to weed and properly cultivate, we were still able to reap ripe fruit of various squash (acorn, butternut, zucchini, spaghetti), tomatoes, onions, fennel, leeks, cabbage, broccoli, chard, and endless varieties of kale in varying colors. Handfuls of sweet raspberries and blueberries graced our baskets as well.
Wendell Berry affirms the wonderment of hand to soil in “The Man Born to Farming” :
“The grower of trees, the gardener, the man born to farming,
whose hands reach into the ground and sprout,
to him the soil is a divine drug. He enters into death
yearly, and comes back rejoicing. He has seen the light lie down
in the dung heap, and rise again in the corn.
His thought passes along the row ends like a mole.
What miraculous seed has he swallowed
that the unending sentence of his love flows out of his mouth
like a vine clinging in the sunlight, and like water
descending in the dark?
(Poem excerpted from “The Selected Poems of Wendell Berry”)
May we hope to improve the world through the small ways we can serve through seed and soil. The day is coming when we’ll synchronize the harvest with artists hungry to taste the goodness — grateful now for the current overflow that can grace the Woodstock food kitchen to serve our local friends as well.
….May we rest in gratitude for the glory of our bountiful earth.