Seeds of hope, nourished, encouraged, shored up, protected, tended... have granted us bounty. She continues to hold on to the last withering vine, as if to send a clear message of determined strength.
We thank her by taking in her nutrients, and then, again throughout the long winter. Proof of her beauty pose as if commissioned as a still-life of colored stacks in the freezer, colorful rows of jars in the cellar, or in color-filled bags to the neighbors.
I understand her unwillingness to give up the attention of the warm sun and the quenched thirst the heavens offer.
My father, at 80, still at work with my family's bounty in Texas. He says his daughter may get out of the farm, but the farm never gets out of the daughter. I didn't believe him when I left that small town heading for college, the big city, to accomplish big things. He was/is so wise. I miss harvest time at my family farm.
I miss my family.
"In a time lacking in truth and certainty and filled with anguish and despair, no woman should be shamefaced in attempting to give back to the world, through her work, a portion of its lost heart." Louise Bogan