Bounty

It rained. Lovely, moist earth, no extra watering needed. The bird baths are full of fresh, soft rainwater.

Wineberries and blackberries hang ripe and lush on vines along the lanes and through the woods. I am drawn as with an invisible, sweet magnet to the field at the top of the hill where I know I will find more of both. The heat has brought them along earlier than most years.

I gather selfishly, just to fill my own belly. Wineberries are too fragile to gather and carry, and blackberries too scarce to find enough to share. Anyone I know with whom I might share could go collect their own should they truly desire the berries.

Cicada song has grown loud. Old wisdom claims that when the cicadas start, count six more weeks until fall weather comes. I wonder if that will hold true this year?

The Community Supported Agriculture program we're part of has started for the year. With our CSA, Greg and Janell of Wilson Farms-- our neighbors and our friends as well as smart businessmen and hard workers-- assess the produce available from their farm each week, and also the approximate value of said produce, and then they fill a couple carry bags with fruits and vegetables picked fresh. This week we had corn, tomatoes, green and yellow summer squash, onions, cucumbers, sweet green peppers, spicy green peppers, green beans, and peaches. I believe that's the list. Oh, wait, a dozen eggs this week, too. We're eating a series of fine feasts.

Bounty. The land holds generous bounty. But never just free for the taking. A bounteous harvest only comes after tending, waiting, noticing, recognizing, and tending some more. Nevertheless, bounty.