“I do not at all understand the mystery of grace – only that it meets us where we are but does not leave us where it found us.” – Anne Lamott
I love the simplicity of venturing out every week to the local CSA farm where we get our produce.
Tromping through the fields to gather fresh flowers, pick raspberries (which never make it past the car ride home), feel the smooth, shiny skins of the chili peppers, allow the wafting scents of cilantro to transport me. I wrote about my new love affair with the farm in my blog called Fresh, Alive, Real…Food.
Mostly what I love in my weekly communions with these plants and vegetables, is the immediate calming effect they have on me. No matter what kind of day I’m having, it seems that I’m always brought back to my center; welcomed, embraced, nurtured. It’s like this unassuming patch of land knows me. And I’m home, doing this simple and ancient thing of gathering.
Gathering my food. Gathering flowers. Gathering my thoughts. Gathering the parts of myself that have gone missing or astray as in…
The plants don’t care that my hair is disheveled. Or that I’m completely fried. Or that the container I use to haul our weekly bounty is an old plastic laundry basket. They seem glad to have me back no matter what.
The fields have been quiet for months now, tucked beneath a yummy blanket of snow.
I’ve enjoyed the down time. The time to reflect; to gather in a different way. Gathering firewood. Gathering with friends. Gathering my resources.
Like new life stirring below ground…
Preparing for a glorious return.