written after The Harvesters by Pieter Bruegel the Elder, 1565
To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven: A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted.
–Ecclesiastes 3, 1-2
Bless those who attune to ripening,
those who hoist baskets, who wield
hoes, pitchforks. Bless those who
cut and stack and carry. Bless those
who pick and gather and sort. Meanwhile,
all around them, others play and lounge,
engage in callous sport. But bless those
who notice the work to be done
and do it. Bless those who feel
the sweet press of days and allow
the hours to avail them. Bless those
who sense the fullness of time,
who say yes to the moment
and rise to meet it.
Do they notice the work to be done and rise to meet the moment of their own accord or are they forced to do it?
I see where you are coming from … there are definitely many people involved in agriculture more out of necessity than choice. And I wonder about the case in the Netherlands in the 1500s. Farming is an honorable job … I guess I was going more with the Ecclesiastes idea–to every thing there is a season and a time to every purpose under heaven. And also thinking of the little red hen. And, I suppose, mostly I am thinking of my 6 years as an organic fruit grower (brutal and beautiful) and my annual vegetable garden … and all my farming friends. And then, of course, thinking beyond the literal garden and into more metaphorical ripening.
Beautifully done!
thank you!
Nicely written…
People who work…hard works…Hardly get enough respect and recognition.
But they are the one who cleans the dirt and grow the greens…
Yes, this is the spirit I wrote it in … gratitude to all the hard workers everywhere, especially in this poem those who grow and tend and harvest our food …