Thanksgiving
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I walked out through the cold field with gray clouds hanging overhead. In the late afternoon light I saw the long grass the cows have been steadily eating down, the dried corn stalks whose ears were harvested when the skies where a brilliant, delicious blue by women so caring and sweet. The cows like to eat these dried corn stalks. They’ll eat any leftover veggies as well, the kale plants, the cabbages and cauliflower. I walked through this past summer’s onion patch and my mind was flooded with sunny memories from the summer before this one. Plucking a globular white onion from the ground and admiring its shape, holding it up in the hot sunlight. I recall the details of the moment with that onion, the girls I was with, the uncomfortable heat, the soil. That moment represents countless moments. Moments when the beauty of creation is so unignorable that even in the oppressive, dry heat of summer you’re struck into presence and reflection before continuing on with your other million tasks. And what’s more, those moments are often shared. What a blessing that is. You and me seeing, touching, smelling, tasting this food. Laughing about what the Kohlrabi looks like to us.
