Wednesday, July 29, 2015

Dear God,

Every summer I am compelled to create a garden and preserve food for the winter.  Whatever I can't grow, I travel to Spiller Farm to pick.  Today was no different.

I first put on my sun bonnet, a reminder of my grandmother who put in a truck patch beside her farm house.  She grew enough food to take care of family, neighbors, and the poor in her teeny town of 500.  Then I get on my knees and put my hands deep into the soil.  I place tender plants, pat down the soil and water.  Then I pray and pull weeds.  When the lettuce comes, my mouth waters. 

This week I drove to Spiller's.  I tied my bucket around my waist and then picked ripe red raspberries.  When I got back home I cleaned the berries and made black/red raspberry jam.  Again I remembered my grandmother who always walked down the hill and around the bend in the woods to pick wild berries.  She too made jam pouring hot paraffin on top to preserve it.  Anytime I ate it, I closed my eyes and allowed my taste buds to take the exquisite flavor in.  I always knew my grandma added love to every jar.

And so, each summer I revisit those days so many years ago.  I bathe in the wondrous memories Grandma and I made together.  I remember her smile, that beautiful smile that told every one she knew that she loved them.  I remember her faith, her devotion to God, and the many times she prayed on her knees by the bed lifting the names of each child and grandchild.  I remember her hugs and the way she stood on the front porch waving goodbye.

I guess I plant and preserve because in the process I meet Grandma, one of the best gifts you ever gave.

Holy God,
thank you
for blessed memories.
Thank you
for my grandmother,
a saint
who loved
and gave
and helped
so many.
Thank you
for fresh food
kissed by
the sun
and rain.
Thank you
for pretty jars
of color
that remind us always
of your handiwork.

Love, Andrea