On the first official day of autumn, a nearby maple tree let go of a couple of gorgeous red leaves. The gentle sea breeze brought them to a soft landing on my porch. They were the only leaves on my porch that day, speaking a clear message that the summer of growth, produce, green and warmth was beginning its process of dying away and going dormant.
As nature lets go of its vibrant summer life and releases its produce in preparation for its season of rest, it stirs within me memories of my childhood and family rituals. I grew up in a family of seven in rural Ohio. One of the ways my parents kept food on the table for that size of a family was with a summer garden that covered over half an acre.
Throughout the summer, the food on our dinner table always reflected what had just ripened in the garden. Nothing compared to the taste of corn that had just been plucked off the stalk 20 minutes earlier, from a garden just a steps from our back door. But there was always more produce ready to be picked than even our large family could consume. That was intentional, of course. My parents knew the importance of not just food for today, but for the winter ahead. Many summer Saturdays were spent snapping bushels of beans and husking hundreds of ears of corn, preparing some of the extra garden produce for freezing. Those frozen bags of fruits and vegetables would see us through the winter, until the next summer’s harvest. I will also remember that we never kept all of the produce for ourselves. At the end of those days of freezing the fruits and vegetables, there was always some that was loaded in a trailer, which my dad took into a nearby town to give to relatives and friends who had no gardens.
I’ve been reflecting lately on the word “harvest.” I have a practice of harvesting the blessings in and around my life. It is, for the most part a “naming” exercise. I write them down on strips of paper and put them in a heart-shaped wooden box, given to me by a former parishioner who was a master craftsman.
This practice feels different from “counting my blessings.” For me, counting blessings has connotations of trying to quantify goodness that comes into our lives or being part of some contest where the one with the most “wins.” “Harvesting” the blessings in my life feels a bit like when my parents, siblings, and I would snap beans and husk corn so we could be fed through the long, cold winter months. When my own days this winter turn darker and colder and when life feels more cocooned and solitary, the box of harvested blessings invites me to occasionally remove a strip of paper and read its blessing. In my memory I will taste the sweetness of God’s handiwork in my life, with plenty of joy and blessing to share with others.
Is there a practice you have adopted or want to take on that invites you to harvest daily blessings in your life and create a storehouse of reminders for the days when blessing seems absent or long in coming? This autumn season is a lovely time to consider it, as creation itself reminds us just how natural the process is.
The Rev. LaDonna Thomas is pastor of St. Paul Lutheran Church, 1123 Washington St., in the Lanesville section of Gloucester. Midweek Musings is column that rotates among Cape Ann’s clergy.