While innsitting here in the country at the beautiful Journey Inn, we had the first frost of the season—every night the last week—each frost flattening the gardens a bit more.
The vibrant red zinnias fading to a rusty orange, the bright green leaves browning and losing their vitality…the cantaloupe wilting so much that the vines are fading into the earth, and the basil completely shrunken and withered.
I mentioned to Dave that I wanted to go pick what I could of what was left, to save the last fruits of the season. We’ve been so busy tending to the guests and the running of the Inn that I hadn’t had time, but the desire was there and each morning when I looked out the kitchen windows at what remained of the garden, it arose freshly within me.
Dave’s response that it wasn’t necessary—that it was surplus and wouldn’t be missed—did not satisfy me.
As I’ve been sitting with it, I realize that harvesting what is ripe feels like a kind of sacred calling to me. The earth, the sun, the water, the people who tended those plants…all of them contributed to the creation of the fruit of the plant. This fruit—be it tomato, flower, squash, or melon—is the final offering of the plant’s life before it goes back into the earth for the winter.
This harvest is something to be appreciated, gawked over, celebrated! If I had not picked that which would have spoiled by continued frost, I would have missed the chance to celebrate the mystery of the harvest, the mystery of life beginning, being tended, growing, and producing fruit.
When I looked closely in amongst the tomato vines, I found not only withered and wilted leaves, but also yellow cherry tomatoes and green ones still hoping to ripen. There was even a delicata squash buried under the verdant, mass of life still trying to grow!
There is simple beauty here.
Beauty in becoming, in ripening, in aging, in being bitten by frost, in living, in dying…
If I had not gone out to pick the last of the harvest, would I have stumbled upon this hidden beauty? Would I have, instead, simply seen dying plants and cast my gaze on other more standard visions of beauty—the yellow flowers still blooming, the bluff, the blue sky?
And how does this apply to my life in general?
How do I miss the satisfaction of harvesting that which is ripe, of taking in the beauty that is all around me—even in the aging and dying. For everything is ripening, aging, and dying. I am, you are, the plants, the animals, the season—everything is pulsing in this eternal rhythm of life and death.
So why not celebrate and enjoy our harvest?
If we did this more, perhaps we’d be more satisfied.
Perhaps we’d take in the nourishment, the beauty, the wholeness that is here—right under our feet, in front of our eyes, in every moment.
Perhaps we wouldn’t need to overeat, over-drink, over-work, over-exercise, over-think, over-distract…
Perhaps we would feel more full, more complete, more present.
Right now, I am celebrating the harvest of all my work over the last 2 months as it comes to fruition in this, my new site: www.katytaylor.com!
It was such a full week here, innsitting, that we had to carve out the time last night to go out to eat at our favorite restaurant and properly celebrate, naming all the work and love that went into building my new site. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do! 🙂
What are you harvesting right now in your life?
Can you find more satisfaction, more beauty, more “yes” in your harvest right now?
What would it take?
If you’d like to learn about finding more satisfaction in your food, consider joining me at Beat the Sugar Blues on October 17th at the new Mississippi Market Coop on EAST 7th. Read more.
If you’d like to practice finding more satisfaction in your life and your harvest, consider signing up for a free Discovery Session, join my Nourishing Wholeness newsletter list, or come practice with me at my Way of the Happy Woman® Autumn Yoga, Meditation, and Life-Balance Mini-Retreat.
2 thoughts on “what are you harvesting?”
Katy, Your finding the delicate squash under the verdant mass, reminds me of the unexpected resource I sometimes find in myself when all hope has died to cope with something difficult. It’s the hidden harvest of past experience that surprises and still gives me life.
thanks for bringing this to my attention, Che–yes–hidden harvest is such a blessing!