#NewThisDay Writing From My Photo Stream
The Morning Brook
“I can think of no better form of personal involvement in the cure of the environment than that of gardening. A person who is growing a garden, if he is growing it organically, is improving a piece of the world. He is producing something to eat, which makes him somewhat independent of the grocery business, but he is also enlarging, for himself, the meaning of food and the pleasure of eating.”
― Wendell Berry, The Art of the Commonplace: The Agrarian Essays
My walk came after a very very early trip to the grocery store with my husband. Opening time, in our scarves as masks, moving swiftly, filling two baskets, bagging two baskets, and unloading and disinfecting all, and cleaning freezers out for more room, and emptying basement shelves for more room, and storing it all and then by the time I went out I was tired and distracted and unable to focus; and the brown leaves dulled my senses, and the sun hidden and my mood blah. But I stood, before going in, at the rushing brook and looked into it and thought about how I love this gushing place, and now it’s overflowing, as it does in spring, and more rain will make this path impassable for awhile. The day, and my mood, improved. There was time in the yard with all of our family and dogs, a happy visit of togetherness. And my daughter showed me her secret seedlings in the basement, and they’re sprouting! And my husband spent time on his tractor on the garden toiling. The other daughter worried about him as she listened to his chain saw buzzing; he had to take down a limb of a tree so as to not shade the new garden, and cut up wood to dry for next year. And I desperately needed a nap in the late afternoon, and I took one. That also improved my mood. We had a family phone call with an old friend that cheered me immensely. A young man who used to date my daughter, the gardener, years ago. It’s lovely when young people remain friends after a change in relationship. And this young man has remained friends with us all, a coast away, it was joyful to see him healthy and happy and we laughed and laughed about old times. This did my heart so much good, just to laugh. Years ago, when we lived on Brush Hill Road and the kids were small I had a summer vegetable garden for a couple of years. And then, I stopped, because my father had such a thriving one right up the road, and I preferred to visit his than toil in my own. It’s exciting to discover my daughter seems to have inherited his green thumb and his passion for planting and growing. Well, there is so much work yet to be done with this garden of our dreams to make it a reality. But in the basement, it is begun.
