In the east, the sun was shining. In the west, there was a storm brewing. And even though our weather comes from the west, I still walked, hoping that the storm would wait. And then when I turned, there was a rainbow, partial at first, then dimming, then filling out. 

And I thought about the story from Genesis, but I was not thinking about Noah or the animals or the ark. I was thinking about God – God who unilaterally disarmed, who hung up the bow never to engage in that kind of violence. And when the rainbow was just a fragment, it seemed a reminder that the bow, the weapon, had been broken. 

God disarmed. Why can’t we? Why can’t we hang up our bows, our bombs, our guns, our violence. And why can't we turn away from those who use starvation as a weapon of war?  How can we let the children of Gaza starve? How can we let the children of our own county starve? It is time for all of us to hang up our bows.

 

More Neighbors!

My sister’s vehicle began making a terrible racket yesterday, like rocks rolling around in a metal bucket. It was obvious that she needed to have it inspected and fixed. But how and where? It couldn’t be driven, and the nearest place to tow it would be at least 30 miles away. Plus any dealer would charge her a fortune just to look at it. I texted a friend and asked his advice. He and his son showed up a bit later, opened the hood, and diagnosed the problem. Then they called the auto parts place for the water pump and got to work fixing things. It was so, so hot, and the job took longer than they thought it would due to a missing bolt. But in a couple of hours, the truck was fixed. No tow truck, no overpriced dealer, no hassle for us. 

A few Sundays ago in church, we read the parable of the Good Samaritan. Jesus asks the lawyer: “Who was a neighbor to the man in need?” The answer: “The one who showed mercy.” Our neighbors are the ones who took care of us, showed mercy, gave us what we needed – their skill, their time, their willingness to help. 

What a blessing to have neighbors!!

 

The Grocery Store

Today when I checked out at the grocery story, the women ringing up my order asked if I wanted to contribute to the local food bank by buying some groceries. I told her no, that I gave a monthly contribution to them. And I think I added something about what good work they do. She thanked me and said she wished she could get some reasonably priced groceries. I told her that the Food Bank has a grocery store where you can just go and shop – no cost, no screening, no pre-approval. She must have known about that, because she said it was hard for her to get there because of her schedule and transportation. She told me that she has to take a cab or Uber to her job at the grocery store. I asked where she lived – across town, not in walking distance of her work or the Food Bank. We talked about how hard it is to navigate public transpiration, which I have had to do a little but not for survival. She told me that it was hard to make ends meet, that she had cancelled her cable tv so she could pay for food. And….she works in a grocery store. 

I didn’t know what to do for her. I don’t know what to do for any people like this who are working so hard, trying so hard. I keep doing my monthly donation to the Food Bank. That is something. But in the months ahead, I know that eliminating hunger will be like emptying the ocean with a teaspoon. There are so many people like this woman who are working as hard as they can and still can’t make ends meet. And there are so many more who will be required to get a job and that won’t make things any easier for them – if they can even find work and pay to get there. 

And there was my grocery order: two key lime pies, goat cheese, a bottle of wine.  It was just my grocery list, but for the woman ringing up my order, I think it was an unimaginable luxury. 

Lord, have mercy.

 

Life Lessons from Buddy

Buddy with a feather he found on a walk...toys are everywhere!

1. Stop when you need to and take care of bodily functions. 
2. Eat what is set before you with gratitude and gusto.
3. Drink enough water. 
4. Welcome friends and strangers – they may be bearing treats. 
5. Be present in the moment with all your senses: smell, taste, listen, look, touch. 
6. Don’t turn down a little travel. It might turn out to be an adventure.  
7. When it is hot, find a cool corner and lie down. When is it cold, sleep in a warm place. 
8. Dig some holes now and then. 
9. Every day, walk some, sleep some, play some. 
10. Don’t engage in futile pursuits. You will never run fast enough to catch a rabbit! 
11. When something is out of the ordinary, let your people know. 
12. Learn to sit and stay!
13. Pay attention to and obey the one who leads and loves you.

Relish

From the book Saving the Season by Kevin West: 

The archaic origin of the word “relish” is revealing. Around 1300, “reles” entered the language from the Old French relaisser, “to leave behind.” The Oxford English dictionary cites a poem from the era ....[and] proposes that the meaning of “reles,” ... although unclear, was probably “the sensation or impression left behind” – the aftertaste. From the sixteenth century onward, the word’s spelling, pronunciation, and general sense of “to enjoy” became what it is today. “Hunger and Thirst are our best sauce,” wrote the Reverend Nathaniel Ingelo in his religious allegory Bentrivolio and Urania of 1660. “We still keep some to relish our next meal.” … 

 

[R]elish occupies a niche somewhere between condiment and side dish. …Relish stimulates the appetite – and leaves behind a pleasant aftertaste. 

So I made corn relish, from a recipe in this book. The corn came from my brother’s garden and the peppers from mine. It is lovely, little golden jars of corn studded with red and green peppers, spices, and chopped onions. We will relish this – enjoy it -– in days to come, and I will relish the memory of preserving the food that grew from our hands on our land, left behind now in my pantry.

 

Baptism!

On Sunday, we baptized a sweet baby whose daddy, aunt, uncle, and grandmama were also baptized in our church. The grandmama is the clerk of Session so in our liturgy the clerk begins by saying: “On behalf of the session, I present this child.” She choked up before she said the baby’s name. And then I choked up, and so did the baby’s mother and father. And so did most of the congregation. It was a precious moment. 

The baby’s grandfather was buried from that church. Her great-grandmother was a deacon there, the first woman to hold that office. My father was the sponsor/godfather when her aunt was baptised. And they were all – somehow – present in that moment. It was so holy, so sacred. And I felt so honored to be able to so this. 

 

Pickle du jour!

Sweet Pickles with Lemon and Rosemary

People bring me all kinds of fruits and vegetables. It has been this way since I moved back to the farm.  The bounty is a blessing! And I feel I cannot let anything go to waste. Some goes in a pot for supper, some goes in the freezer for the future, and some gets pickled! 

In that past two weeks, I’ve made squash pickles, dill pickles, sweet pickles (for my neighbor who is off her feet for a while), black and blue chutney (my creation from boxes and boxes of blackberries and blueberries), sweet pickles with rosemary and lemon (another of my creations), and pickled green beans. 

I tasted the chutney before it sat long enough, and it was already delicious. I will try the lemon and rosemary pickles in a week or so. And the pickled green beans are so, so good. Today's pickle du jour was more of those. I am about to decide that almost anything can be pickled! 

At Christmas, when we do our big charcuterie for the whole family, there will be lots of pickles and jam and chutney. When a friend drops by for a glass of wine, there will be pickled green beans beside the cheese and crackers. When my sister and I crave a savory snack, there will be something in a jar to open.

And when I eat these pickles, when I serve them to others, I remember the folks who brought the berries and beans and squash and cucumbers. There is a blessing in the bounty of produce, and an even greater blessing in the bounty of friends!

 

Tenderness

Last week, I went to get my hair cut. The woman giving me a shampoo asked if I was “tender-headed” and I said no. She then gave me a good scrubbing and a wonderful scalp massage. 

I’m not sure anyone has asked me about being tender-headed. A more familiar expression to me is tender-hearted, and there are several in our family who are often described that way. I don’t know that I am one of those. But maybe I should have told the person washing my hair that I was tender-headed. It is in my head that I feel tenderness for the world. I think about the horrors that are reported every single day, big and small, and my head is filled with sadness, grief, frustration, and disbelief at all the daily cruelty. And I find myself wishing, hoping, praying for tender heads rather than hotheads in places of power and decision-making.

 

Update.....

The corn is now higher than my head and starting to tassel. Here and there, I can see baby ears starting. It has rained at just the right time. The sunflowers, however, are no more…. The deer ate them all, leaving only the lower part of the stems, all stripped clean of the leaves. And then the weeds grew, so the rows are green but not with sunflowers. The deer need to eat, and a tender buffet right there is tempting, I suppose. But I will miss the blooms in the summer mornings.

 http://pastormartha.blogspot.com/2025/05/time.html

Neighbors

Some of the pickles!

When I lived in New England, it was rare for someone just to drop in. People (me included) almost always called in advance, to see if the timing was convenient or if folks would be home. But here in the country, it is very different. People stop by all the time. And they usually bring something. Sometimes it is a story or an old newspaper article about a long-passed relative. Lately, it is produce. People have brought pints and pints of blueberries, cabbages, the last broccoli from a garden, a bucket of peas. And this week, it was squash, pounds of squash; and then, green beans. So I got out my jars and pickling salt and canner. I have made 20 pints of squash pickles and six pints of pickled green beans. We will share them with neighbors, and eat them in the winter, when they will be like a taste of summer in a jar!

 

May 4

Daddy was born on May 4, 1918. He lived to be 98 years old. Last year, on May 4 – his birthday -- Mama said she thought she was getting a cold, but she didn’t seem to feel really sick until Wednesday, May 8. It wasn’t a cold – it was pneumonia. The year before, she had pneumonia at about the same time. We nursed her through then, but last year was too much. She died on May 11, 2024. She was also 98 years old. 

She was an educator for all her career. And her final act was one of teaching: She donated her body to East Carolina University for medical students to learn about anatomy. She graduated from East Carolina, as did her mother, her daughter-in-law, and her grand-daughter. What an act of generosity, and what a legacy!  

This year, on May 4 -- Daddy’s birthday -- we buried her ashes. We did everything we think she wanted us to do. She is buried in exactly the same grave where he is. After eight years of life without him, she is physically where she said she wanted to be. We wrote our messages of love on the box that held her ashes. Our brother put the box in the ground, and my sister and I helped to bury it. It was sweet and sad, and we were surrounded by so much love. 

She was known and loved for the letters she wrote. She thanked people for anything and everything – a plant, a visit, a bucket of peas, a job well done. Those letters were precious. It seemed just right to read 2 Corinthians 3:2-3: “You yourselves are our letter, written on our hearts, known and read by all, and you show that you are a letter of Christ, written not with ink but with the Spirit of the living God, not on tablets of stone but on tablets that are human hearts.” She did write on our hearts, inscribing our lives with her love. 

It has been a year and a bit, and I miss her every day.

 

Time

When I walk with my dog, our way passes between the fields, corn on one side and sunflowers on the other. What started as bare ground yielded to faint green as the seeds sprouted. Now the corn is knee high and the sunflowers are growing, too, except in some spots where the deer have eaten the tender stalks. In a few months, the plants will be taller than I am, and my way will be lit with golden sunflowers and tasseled corn. 

Once upon a time, my life was governed by a calendar and a clock – meetings here, meetings there, things to schedule, places to go and people to see, deadlines and timelines. Now, I find myself marking time by how much the corn has grown. It is a different rhythm, sweet and satisfying. I still have things to do, appointments to keep, a calendar, but watching the corn grow and talking to the dog fill me with peace.