Refuge – Day 972

• Monarch on Echinacea – Photo: L. Weikel

Refuge

Right around noon today I unexpectedly encountered several minutes of profound peace. I rediscovered a place where the air is sweet and vast, and if you time it just right, wraps you in a cocoon of silence. Before today, I don’t think I would’ve called it this, but – it’s a place of refuge.

One of my daughters (in-law*) belongs to a local CSA. Tiffany is generous and makes a point of sharing her bounty with us. I (well, we) reciprocate in some small measure by picking up the weekly harvest when she can’t make it and occasionally massaging the kale. (Yes; that’s a thing. And I guarantee it’s the yummiest way to eat kale you’ve ever tried.)

Today was my turn.

After gathering up our allotment of precious bounty: red onions, cucumbers, carrots, kale, parsley, cabbage, summer squash and zucchini, I turned my sites on the vast fields where we get to ‘pick our own.’

Loose In the Fields

The CSA administrators essentially let us loose in the fields to pick our own raspberries and cherry tomatoes. We’re not entitled to pick as many as we might like; just like any good thing, there are limits. Indeed, getting to the fields late can mean you may not even be able to eke out half a pint of either, at least when the yield is only starting to come in.

We’re also welcome to pick from a variety of herbs, which I didn’t do; and I think okra may be in season as well. (That’s an interesting vegetable that could merit a post of its own.) But one of the best parts of the field is being entitled to pick the flowers they’ve cultivated.

Is It the Acoustics?

The acoustics of the fields are remarkable. Technically, it’s not actually the fields that cause the amazing acoustics, it’s the palisades, the massive stone edifices that tower over the fields that create almost a fishbowl of sound. When other people are picking their veggies or flowers, even if they’re chatting with someone quietly, right beside them, it’s guaranteed you’ll be able to hear every nuance of that conversation.

I have a feeling that’s why most people, if they don’t immediately enter a meditative state, reflexively lower their voices to a whisper when engaging in ‘pick-your-own.’ Because voices carry so easily and crisply, when they’re not there at all, silence bounces off of silence and it’s as if we’re in a sound-proof booth.

The totality of the experience is hard to describe but easy to lose oneself in.

Reverie

The coneflower, also known as Echinacea, was a mecca for the pollinators. Oh my goodness, it was such a delight to see all manner of bees, butterflies, and other winged ones imbibing.

At one point it dawned on me that I was the last person standing in the middle of that field. The only sounds I heard were the sudden screeches of crows that were hounding a red-tailed hawk. Hawk didn’t take the strong but silent route, either. It scree’d its indignation right back at them as it took up residence in a massive oak at the edge of the field.

Almost all the flowers were covered with pollinators. I couldn’t bear to pick the vast majority of them. And indeed, when one of the employees came out to the field (not sure if they were looking for me or what), I shared with them some of the other prizes I was harvesting – my photos.

The Spirits of this Place know that the manner in which these vegetables, fruits, flowers, and other plants are being cared for is sacred. The reverence creates a palpable refuge for all Beings seeking nurturing, nourishment, and peace.

(T-139)