One year later, on our first anniversary -- and wrapping up our first year farming -- we spent the evening pulling winter squash out of the field by flashlight, saving it from an impending frost, while our perfectly cooked pot roast went cold on the kitchen counter.
Last Saturday, we spent the morning in squash patch again, cutting bulbing fruit from thickening vines. It's become somewhat of a tradition.
This year in particular, it felt symbolic. It was therapy. It was good to be outside, watching nature do its spectacular fall magic and letting my body work again. As we cut and stacked and searched and cut and stacked, I had time to think. About frost and loss. Fertility and fallow. Marriage and motherhood.
About fragility.
And how quickly it can turn to toughness.
About beauty.
And how it deepens with time and imperfection.
About resiliency and steadfastness.
Fitting then, that when I got home, our dear friend Michael (read him here and him and his awesome wife here) -- the wise man who, three years ago, in front of God and Mother Nature and friends and family (and nearly the whole town of Dutton), pronounced us husband and wife -- sent us a link to this essay, written and read, by dear friend of his:
“On Cold-Weather Vegetables” by Katrina Vandenberg in Orion
Perfect timing.
Happy anniversary! That was a beautiful essay for a fall morning, a nice reminder to honor what endures as the season comes to an end. Much love to you all.
ReplyDeleteI was introduced to your blog about the same time a professor named Michael assigned Katrina Vandenberg's moving short essay "On Cold-Weather Vegetables" in a nonfiction writing class. When I first read your blog, I was immediately reminded of her essay, no doubt the first link being the vegetables. Your thoughts and images provide a lovely example of how to capture the meanings of life each day in the little and big things that abound. Thank you.
ReplyDelete