Worry…..

 

Most of the books I buy come from online used bookstores. I recently bought “Have a Beautiful, Terrible Day” by Kate Bowler.  It is a collection of daily meditations that address, as the subtitle says “the ups, downs, and in-betweens” of everyday life. Some of the meditations offer suggestions for prayer or reflection. One of them, a piece about not sleeping much, had a prompt to name three worries, without judging, without showing them to anyone, just tucking the little list away in hope that doing so might bring some rest. 

 

There was a yellow sticky note on that page, dated 2/6/24, with the three worries of someone who once owned this book.  That person worried that Brady was not social enough, Izzy was too social, and Matt would never forgive and move one.  

 

I don’t know who you are, and I don’t know if you are still worrying about these three.  But I pray for the healing power of sleep to ease your mind, and that you find “the sort of peace that calms storms into bathtub water…folds origami out of the tight corners of [your] mind…”  and covers you “like a weighted blanket.”

 

 

Moving next door…..

My sister and I are building a little cottage nearby, just across the branch. My niece and her family will move into the big farmhouse. The builders tell us that we may be able to move in mid-May or early June. But today, I moved something to the new place – one hive of bees! My friend came and helped me “split” the hive – taking five frames of bees, food, and brood to make a new hive. The bees were calm as we divided them up and moved them a quarter mile away. Then I added a new queen to the box, and they were calm then, too. They will be happy to have her. These bees have made their own queens in the past, but this time, I thought they needed some new DNA. I’ll check on her/them in a few days, but in the meantime, I’m hoping they are all settling in, getting used to the new pheromones, and orienting to the new location. And when my sister and I relocate, I hope the same for us!

 

A Tale of Two Grocery Stores

A few weeks ago, I was waiting for my sister to finish an appointment in a town I rarely visit. While I waited, I stopped in at the only grocery store in town, an IGA. It was small, with narrow aisles and basic produce – no exotic fruit or trendy vegetables:  broccoli but no broccolini; strawberries, the red ones, not the fancy hybrid white ones. The fruits and vegetables were piled on tables and some shelves, not arranged like an art exhibit. Two shoppers, men, were chatting by the potatoes and onions. 

I was looking for ingredients to practice making biscuits. My recipe suggested two kinds of flour, soft flours that would yield tender biscuits. Many groceries don’t carry them, but this store had both. There was one brand of baking powder, not three or four. Plus there was lard on the shelf, and smoked turkey pieces for seasoning collards. When I paid for my groceries, one bag full, the cashier asked if I would like someone to take them out to my car. As I left, the two men in the produce section were still visiting. 

A week or so later, I went to another small grocery, this one part of a national chain. There were wide aisles but also little “islands” here and there, one with fancy cheeses, another with bubbly wine, another with nuts and snack mixes. There were probably six or seven kinds of canned tomatoes. And produce like bok choy, escarole, tropical fruits of all kinds, and ginger root and lemon grass – all beautifully displayed. The people shopping there were casually dressed but not in jeans and boots as at the IGA. A woman in an expensive-looking fleece was chatting with a man in the check-out line. Maybe they knew each other or not, but when he got his groceries, they ended the conversation and he went his way. I carried my own groceries out the car. 

The second store was lovely, and the shopping there was a pleasant experience. It was a modern store, with trendy food and lovely arrangements. Going to the IGA, though, was like stepping back in time. It was a place to see and catch up with your neighbors, chat with the person at the cash register, linger in the produce section. The basics were there, but the choices were not overwhelming. It had all the ingredients for old-fashioned southern country cooking. 

There aren’t many stores like that anymore. Consumers, myself included, want lots of variety and wide aisles and potted orchids. But something is lost in the fancy stores, a sense of community and good plain food and the simplicity of an easier time. I’ll keep going to the grocery stores with all the options, but I might try to find an IGA now and then, too.

 

Grateful!

I was looking for a card to send and found, in my mother’s dresser, a whole box of thank you cards, 100 of them, with matching green envelopes trimmed in gold. I am sure my sister bought them for her. She always wrote to thank people for gifts, visits, food – anything and everything. And the recipients treasured those notes, keeping them on bulletin boards and stuck up on the visor in a pickup truck. 

I have tried to follow her example, to write to say thank you for any kindness, large or small. I wrote ten notes on those little cards. I don’t know if I will finish the box this year, but my resolution is to express the gratitude I feel for all the goodness that comes my way: for collards and broccoli and tomatoes, for the gift of a kitchen gadget or something sweet and homemade, for a helping hand in a time of need. I am blessed!

 

Baking with the Saints

My mother had a wooden recipe box, a large rectangular thing. It has dividers, and, once upon a time, maybe she filed her recipes in those groups. But now everything is just in there, haphazard. Some recipes are on fancy index cards. Some are clipped from old newspapers. Some are typed, and some are on the backs of old envelopes, just ingredients but no title or even directions. The most precious ones are hand-written. 

I went through some of the recipes last week and found one for a recipe that I remembered my cousin making. For some reason – who knows? – it is called “Chinese chews.” It is a kind of blondie bar. It is written in her handwriting. I will make that recipe before Christmas is over. And then there was a cookie recipe from another cousin for slice-and-bake brown sugar cookies. My mother made those often, and I found two recipe cards for the same recipe, one in my cousin’s handwriting. The cookies were delicious. And then I made my mother’s Christmas tree cookies, with her cookie press. My sister has always loved those cookies, and I was glad to make them for her. 

It was lovely, baking all those cookies, creaming pounds of butter and sugar, mixing in the flour and vanilla. The house was warm from the oven and smelled so fragrant. And it made me feel happy to be baking, and also a little sad to be doing it on my own. I missed them so much, especially Mama. But, somehow, I wasn’t really alone. I was connected to those past generations. I could work from their recipes, see their hands, taste the sweetness of their cooking. They were in the kitchen with me, those saints.

 

Changing the Closet

When I lived in New England, it was a ritual of the season – spring and fall -- to change the closet. Most folks knew what you were talking about when you set aside a few hours for that task. In early October, it meant taking out the spring and summer clothes, packing them away, and getting the fall and winter things out of storage. My storage closet was in the basement, so it was up and down the stairs, basement to second floor, many trips with one batch of clothes and shoes betting moved up and the other batch getting moved down. 

In the South, changing the closet is not really a thing. There are generally two seasons: hot and not so hot! I still have a long wool winter coat, but I hardly ever wear it. Usually a warm jacket is enough. But this year, I am changing my closet. The clothes in the back of the closet haven’t been worn very much, if at all. They are fine; it is just that I have a lot of things and wear mostly the same ones over and over. I will take out the shirts and dresses in the back and pack them away. When the calendar turns to spring and summer, even if the weather stays much the same, I will send them along to someone who needs and can use them.

 

First of Fall

The corn field is all brown stubble; the corn has been gathered.  The pink and yellow cotton blossoms are turning into bolls.  Acorns are pinging on the tin roof over the porch, and the magnolia pods are bursting with red seeds.  The poke berries are purple, reminding me of the days when we used to mash them and make our own ink.  Spider webs are everywhere, as their spinners seek that last bit of nourishment.  Bees are foraging on goldenrod, swamp sunflowers, and chives gone to flower.  Butterflies have emerged from their cocoons and are getting ready to fly away or leave their eggs to over-winter. The hummingbirds have already left.  Some of the chickens are molting.  The horse and dog and goats have not put on their winter coats but they will soon.  

At Yale, we sang the alma mater with this line:  “The seasons come, the seasons go. The earth is green or white with snow.”  I feel the season going, the season of summer with its golden corn and wildflowers and green fields.  There is a touch a fall in the air when I walk out into the morning.  The seasons come, the seasons go. 

Sunday Morning

The spires of the pine trees rise like steeples.  A choir of insects hums the prelude.  The birds offer a morning anthem. .  The breezy breath of the wind stirs the trees to praise. The dome of the sky is a shelter of blue and white; the sun shines brighter than any candles.  And God is present.

 

Later, I will go to church, and there will be a steeple and music and praise and candles.  And God will be there, too.

 

I am reminded of a song taught to us in a long-ago Sunday School class:  

 

Over the ground is a mat of green;

Over the green, the dew;

Over the dew are the arching trees;

Over the trees, the blue.

Dotting the blue are the scudding clouds.

Over the clouds, the sun;

Over the sun is the love of God,

Brooding us everyone.

Morning Sounds

 The dog’s big yawn

The cat demanding breakfast

 

Two crows and a quail having a conversation

 

Quiet breeze in the pine trees

 

Raindrops plopping on the tin roof of the shed

 

Cars and trucks, traffic on the road, carrying folks to work

 

Big yellow busses, full of children I can’t hear but can imagine -- some rowdy and ready for the day, others still bed-rumpled and sleepy

 

The lawn mower

 

My neighbor’s hen announcing an egg

 

Dogs barking far away

 

The horse greeting me, or more likely, his bucket of feed

 

And under it all, the gentle hum of a thousand unseen insects, greeting the day

Things that make me smile!

Buddy going for a ride!!

My friend has worked on my 1949 Ford pickup truck for weeks, fixing this and replacing that, diagnosing and researching and repairing. And it is running beautifully!!! So today I took the dog for a drive, his first trip in the truck. His ears perked up when I started it – he is used to the Prius which is so quiet, not like the truck. We drove just a bit, not far, and he was fine. 

My dog by my side, my truck humming along, a lovely late summer day: happiness all around!

 

My New Grocery Store

From their Face Book page - this and lots more!

There is a small Mexican grocery store in the little town nearest us. I’ve seen their pictures on Face Book, but I had never been until today. It is a wonderful place! There are bins of fresh fruits and vegetables: mangos, tomatoes, oranges, avocado, garlic, onions, and wonderfully strange things (to me) like rambutan and nopales. In the cold section, there are tender greens, cilantro, radishes, all kinds of lovely cheeses. The frozen foods include cooked shrimp, ready-to-eat burritos and tortillas with refried beans, plus sausages. And there are baskets of all kinds of dried chilies. The canned food shelves include chipotles, pickled jalapenos, and canned nopalitos. Pinatas hang from the ceiling and there is a whole section of shoes and boots with a rich leathery aroma, as well as colorful pottery and molcajetes for making guacamole. An older man was in the back cleaning the cactus paddles, and the woman at the counter was warm and helpful. She spoke English, but I so wished I could speak Spanish so I could properly thank her for stocking such wonderful food. 

There is also a Dollar General Market in that town and it has a little bit of fresh food, as well as a large freezer section of processed foods. I’ve gone there for things in the past. But this little market is my new grocery store, I think. It will feel good to support a truly local business, it will be convenient, and the food will be fresh and good. Plus I think I will learn how to cook nopales!

 

Common???

Common Whitetail Dragonfly

We have lots of dragonflies in our yard. One of the most spectacular is this black and white one. I did not know its name and so I looked it up. It is a “common whitetail dragonfly.” But I have to say: there is nothing “common” about this insect. It is so beautiful, so unusual. I am glad to know its name, and also glad to understand that there are so many common things around us that are just little miracles – like this dragonfly.

 

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.