Ode To A Pumpkin

 

It occurred to me the other day that I had no idea where the tradition of carving out pumpkins came from. I had a vague notion that it probably had come over from Europe with our ancestors as so many of our holiday traditions had. I did a little research and found out that this one comes to us from Ireland.  According to legend, Jack, the town drunk, tried to outsmart the Devil but got his comeuppance when he died. He couldn't get into Heaven and the Devil wouldn't let him into Hell either. Instead the Devil imprisoned Jack to an even darker fate. He sent Jack into the dark night to roam the world for eternity with only a coal to light his way. Jack lit the coal and put it in a hollowed-out turnip and has been drifting through the world with it scaring children ever since. The townsfolk began to refer to this figure as "Jack of the lantern" and soon people began carving their own lanterns out of turnips, beets, and potatoes, lighting them to ward off his evil spirit. When the Irish settlers discovered pumpkins upon arriving in the New World, they adapted the tradition, finding these new, larger veggies to be ideal for carving. 

What interested me the most about this story is that with many holiday traditions like Christmas trees and the Yule Log, the focal point is always something from nature. When you think about it, that's all that our ancestors had at the time to mark the event or occasion. As always, Mother Nature provided and still does to this day. Sure, it's festive to see the stores all decorated, as well as people's homes, but the plastic and paper versions just don't do it for me. I, along with the majority of folks, still need the real thing, like pumpkins, Indian corn, gourds, and corn stalks. We still need to feel that connection to the earth and nature that runs through all of our most cherished traditions and, I suspect, in our very "blood memories," as Sidney Poitier once called it. All I know is that when I hold a pumpkin or a gourd in my hand, and play with the silky stalks atop the Indian Corn, I am back with my ancestors harvesting the land and, just to be safe, lighting that light. May it continue always!

And so it is. 

A Day To Feed The Soul

 

Thankfully, despite all that is going on around us, there are still opportunities to feed our souls. Last week I took advantage of the glorious weather we had and took the day off from blogs and writing commitments. Instead I went with my family to the country. It was our annual trip to the pumpkin farm and although there was plenty of social distancing, hand sanitizer stations, and required masks, nothing could take away the feeling one gets from being in nature. 

While the kids ran around feeding the farm animals and looking at the pumpkin statues of characters from movies and children's stories, I couldn't stop myself from simply wandering around, looking out over the fields of withered corn stalks, bales of hay sitting in rows waiting to be collected, and the mass of trees that bordered the farm, a blaze of color and light. I stood by a fence and just breathed, deeply. I let the sun warm my face and the free, fresh breeze of the outdoors blow off all of the dust and disappointment from weeks of being inside, only stepping out cautiously once in a while for groceries or to have Sunday dinner with my family. Out here all of the fear and anxiety were blown away on an Autumn breeze, and replaced with the smell of freshly turned earth, of crows cawing in harmony, and the sounds of children laughing at the antics of the goats who were happy to show their gratitude for the feed that came down the shute by prancing around. 

No matter what else this global crisis and the political storms may do to our lives, nothing can take away that greatest of all medicines, nature. Nothing can take away the beauty of a sunset or the promise of a sunrise. Nothing can rob us of the seasons, of the rolling hills of color in the Autumn, and the burst of green and new life in the Spring. The wind still ruffles our hair, the birds still sing and fly in formation, and we can still lay back and look for puppies and dinosaurs in the clouds. Even when the snows come, and they will, we can still step outside and let the frozen air bite our cheeks to remind us that we are still alive, and that the sun will come up again tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow.

I took myself to the country to feed my soul, to clear my lungs and my mind, and to fill my heart with hope. That, dear friends, is my prescription for you.

And so it is. 

Rainy Days, Mondays, And Pumpkins

 

 It's Monday, it's raining ... and I'm thinking about pumpkins!

As a rule, I usually enjoy Mondays. I like getting back into a routine after the weekend which is usually reserved for family time and, as it's Autumn, my beloved football. Rainy Mondays, however, set me back a bit. I'm slower getting started, slower releasing myself from my nice, warm, bathrobe and fuzzy slippers, and planting body in chair to start writing. I procrastinate some more by going for another cup of coffee, setting a reminder to get more cat litter at the store, and then I see a pickup truck drive by the window with a load of pumpkins and corn stalks in the back. A totally involuntary smile appears on my face. What is it about pumpkins that elicits that response?

Yesterday I went over to my daughter's house for Sunday dinner as usual and drove by an indoor organic gardening center that opened up this past spring. Outside was a huge display of pumpkins, corn stalks, gourds and bushel baskets of apples, but it was the pumpkins that drew my eyes. Orange is such a happy color, don't you think?

I don't know about you, but when I see pumpkins, I think about Autumn, my favorite season. I think about leaves changing into magnificent bowers of color, of pumpkin spice flavored everything, of sitting by the fire (a virtual one in my case) sipping cocoa or chai tea in flannel pajamas. I think about Halloween and Thanksgiving, of pulling out my yarn and crochet hooks to see what I can create for gifts to warm the bodies and hearts of my loved ones, and the smell of apples cooking down to make applesauce. I think of home, love, safety, and family. That's what makes me smile when I see pumpkins.

This year I truly believe that those feelings, those sentiments, are more cherished and embraced than ever before. In a time when we feel helpless and afraid, the sight of pumpkins sitting on our front porches or out in front of a farmer's market re-connects us with something we can hold on to, something that hasn't been lost along with so much else. We can still decorate our homes, make applesauce, and pull out our crochet hooks. We can still gather together in our homes and feel that love and sense of familiar that we so crave. Those are the moments that no one and nothing can take away from us. What is in our hearts is there for all time, just like the seasons. 

And so it is. 

All The Seasons Of Our Lives

 

These last two weeks it's been had to figure out what season we were in here in upstate New York. We traveled back and forth from summer, to fall, to winter, to a bit of spring, and back to summer again. It felt as if we were reliving the entire year in the space of just a few weeks. The summer heart cooled down to more fall-like temperatures, then did a nosedive with enough frost to coat the cars and endanger any plants that were fooled into thinking it was still summer ... which, a few days later, actually happened when the temperatures climbed into the low 80's. If I was a plant, I'd swear I was experiencing what humans call "seeing my life pass before my eyes."

I've been feeling a lot like that myself lately. With all the changes that have been thrown at us over the last few months, one of the things that has come from having so much time on my hands is the luxury of looking back over the seasons of my life and trying to see what part all of these changes and challenges will play in the story of my life. Before all of this it was easy to see my life in the same way that I see the life of a garden (which, after all, was the whole point of starting this blog in the first place). We prepare the soil, order the seeds we wish to see grow, plant them with care (spring), water and nurture them, feed and water them, learn to be patient as we wait for them to produce (summer), harvest them when they are ready and enjoy the bounty (fall) , and prepare the garden for the long sleep of winter. It's the same with all of the seasons of our lives. Spring is our childhood when everything is new. Summer is when we learn to grow, to become the adults we hope to be. Fall is when we finally harvest the bounty of all we've put into our lives, not only in a material sense, but in the wisdom we've gained as well. Finally, the winter of our lives shows up, usually much faster than we'd imagined, and we settle down to rest, to reflect, and then turn it all over to nature to show us what the next step will be.

It's been very hard to see where all of these crises fit into our lives since they are affecting people who are currently in one season or another. For the youngsters it is scary and they feel lost, groundless. For the adults, they feel helpless to do anything to help themselves and their families. For those of us in what we'd like to call our wisdom years, all we can do is look back at some of the other crises in our lives and remember how we got through those. Natural disasters? Personal disasters? Political and economic disasters? Wars, terror attacks? We've gotten through them all and we're still here. Just as the seasons come, and go, and then come around again, so, too, will this moment, this season in our lives move on. What the next season will look like is anyone's guess, but just like this recent "four seasons in one month" that we experienced up here, we just need to follow the signs and prepare accordingly. For me it's pulling out my sweat pants and sweat shirts, but keeping a few pairs of shorts handy as well. Experience and nature are our best teachers after all.

And so it is. 

Five Pigeons, Four Squirrels, Two Chipmunks, And A Woodpecker

 

One of the things I love about early morning walks is that you never know who you'll run into. So many people have taken to the streets and paths around their homes since all of this pandemic thing started that all kinds of folks who may never have had time before to get out and enjoy all of the benefits of walking are doing so now. From the very young being briskly pushed in strollers by moms in yoga pants to much older couples not only out walking together, but talking together. 

My favorite early morning companions, however, aren't pushing strollers or looking for a morning workout ... they're looking for breakfast. And most of them don't actually have feet as we know them, but, rather feathers and paws. This is the cast of characters I ran into this morning:

• Five pigeons calmly walking around the curb and street picking up something that had been dropped by the trash collectors who had been by earlier. It looked like popcorn. There was no fighting among them to get more than anyone else. They were simply looking around, following the trail, and seeing if maybe anything else might present itself. There was no competition and it seemed as if they all got along rather well.
• Four squirrels were having a different sort of experience. One had something in his mouth and the other three were chasing him up and down a very large tree. It seemed to me that it was less about trying to get what he had and more about having some fun and exercise in the early morning sunshine. Their tails were all fluffed out and they ran with abandon. Made me wish I could still run a track.
• Two chipmunks were quietly sitting beneath some kind of bush with berries (some gardener I am ... some kind of bush) eating with those quick little movements they have. When they finished one berry, they would pick another one and go to it. No one was fighting over the same berry. It was very calming to watch them but I didn't want to stand there too long and intrude on their quiet time together.
• A woodpecker was diligently and persistently pecking away high up in a tree over my head. He would peck away very quickly for a few seconds, stop for a few seconds, and then get back at it. He stayed in the same space for quite some time. He was the picture of patience and commitment to the job in front of him. I should be so patient and committed.

Some Native American elders I had the privilege of sitting with and learning from always used to say that we can learn a great deal about how to live our lives in alignment with what the Creator had intended by watching the animals. This morning I learned about working together for a common goal, not taking what wasn't yours or being greedy but only taking what you needed, respecting another person's  space, and working patiently and with purpose to achieve your goal. You might say that today's walk was a lesson on how to live in harmony with everyone and everything. Not a bad way to start the day.

And so it is. 

 

 

 

The Apple Of My Eye!

 

"Even if I knew that tomorrow the world would go to pieces, I would still plant my apple tree today."

~ Becky Anderson 

There are two things I absolutely love about September: the start of football season and apple season! 

Yesterday I had my fill of NFL games and enjoyed every minute even if my favorite team didn't win it's first game. The fact that we even have a football season this year, even with no preseason games to get the guys ready and whet our appetites, is a gift and I will hang in there and root for every game in gratitude.

Today, however, what I refer to as my applesauce itch is starting to make itself known. That's when I get up one morning, breathe in the cool, crisp air, smell the apples sitting in the fruit bowl on my table, and think "is it too early to start making applesauce?" The answer in my case is, of course, it's never too early to start making applesauce. In fact it's never too early to start making apple everything as far as I'm concerned. I've already tasted my first slices of apple pie for the season and have been buying apples since the orchards have started delivering their wares, although it's hard to keep my fruit bowl filled as each visit from my youngest granddaughter and great-grandson seems to empty it. That's okay. I'd rather have to go out and buy more apples then see them munching away on unhealthy snacks. Besides, now that apple season is here, I love to have a reason to get out there and check out each variety.

I don't know what it is about apples that stirs my soul in such a way. Sure, they are delicious and versatile fruits with an apple for every cooking and baking need. They have a wonderful aroma that reminds me of apple picking with the kids when we were all younger and days spent in the kitchen together peeling, chopping, and cooking the apples, adding the brown sugar and cinnamon that I love. Ah, the smells that filled the house! The jars were all washed out and lined up on the table awaiting their precious cargo. But I think it's more than the tastes and the smells. I think it's another symbol of the season, of harvest time and glorious fall foliage, of looking up to the sights and sounds of geese flying in formation as they make their way to warmer climates, of Halloween and pumpkins. I think that this year, however, these things mean even more to me. With all that has been going on, it's all of these little, happy things that keep me and others going. It's having something to look forward to that brings a smile to your face even if it's just peeling apples and filling jars. It's saying to myself that if I go to all the trouble of peeling and cooking this apple, it means that I have hope for tomorrow and all the tomorrows to come, when I will be able to pull a jar out in the depths of winter and still enjoy the tastes and memories of fall. If an apple a day will keep the doctor away, as the old saying goes, maybe it will keep despair and hopelessness away as well. Maybe it's hope in a jar.

And so it is. 

Summer's Grand Finale

The season has come full circle in my tiny garden, from the first pictures I shared of empty pots, seed packets and bags of soil, to the beauty and bounty above. It took a few false starts and having to learn the lay of the land, (aka how this apartment used - or didn't use - light and air quality), but all of my hard work finally paid off. I have already cut back my basil plant several times and enjoyed some fresh in sauces and stir-fries while drying the rest to keep and use over the winter. The same holds true for the parsley, rosemary, and spearmint. We'll see how long I can keep them going under the grow light as the days, and especially the nights, get colder. Just to show you how brave I've gotten with this experiment, I even started some new basil seeds just to see what they'd do and, low and behold, they are coming up. I might even get another plant going before the first frost.

I have come to believe that this tiny garden was my lifesaver over these last few months. The sowing, watering, pruning, moving pots around from grow light to window sill as the weather got warmer, and finally enjoying the tiny harvest while absorbing the beautiful colors of the begonias, geraniums and impatiens, has kept my spirits up and put the cycles of nature front and center for me. That has kept me focused on the beliefs that keep me going, like acknowledging that nature keeps evolving and so do we, that life also has seasons to go through just like in nature, and that, in the end, all the work and learning will bear flowers if we just believe and sow love into the seeds we plant in the dirt and in our hearts. 

Soon it will be time to put all the plants back under the grow lights to see which ones will solider on through the winter and which won't. Next spring I'll take what I've learned this year and put it to use to make my tiny garden even better and more productive. That's kind of what we're supposed to do with life as well, to take what we've learned and use it to build an even better life. It just depends on what you want to grow, and how much work and love you're willing to put in.

And so it is.