This weekend I had the good fortune of being around some family friends who knew me twenty and twenty-five years ago. They held our son and we told stories. We laughed and apologized. It was great fun.
Part of the backdrop of this gathering was food. Okay, a big part. At the home-cooked meals, vegetables from our home garden and the garden at Breck’s played a role. There was a serious pot of greens one night, a mixture of kale, collards, turnip greens and beet greens. I roasted a pan of Yukon Gold potatoes for another meal. Then there was this succotash—sauteed corn, okra, cabbage, onion, tomatoes with basil and oregano (I can still taste this one). We were cooking for a very appreciative group, these dear elders. But that is only part of why I write all of this.
Better still was that I got to be in on a harvest celebration. Asher is some of the fruit that has resulted from the love that these aunts and uncles planted in me. Our family is the result of the work and worry and joy of others. I realized that these people, these who do not share my name, but share some important history, these are the ones who showed me why a community is dear. I saw it so clearly as we held hands in prayer last night. What a joy to share from our harvest with these sowers.
The harvest season is both gladdening and humbling. Food has happened again. There is an abundance, plenty to share. Praise God. And this harvest party was no exception.