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Posts Tagged ‘harvest’

Late Summer

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , on August 28, 2022| 8 Comments »

            for Vivian and Christie


This lyric afternoon with its fruit trees
and friendship and barest kiss of rain,
is it so wrong to want to save it, the way
I will process the dark plums into jam?
Is it so wrong to want to preserve
the honeyed song of summer, the warmth
of sun, the pleasure of an afternoon
with my daughter and a friend?
An ovation of thunder.
Scent of basil. Purr of cat.
The creamy fuzz of the growing quince.
The joy as we try for the first time
black apricots, their skin so surprising,
their flesh so nectar-ish. I will freeze
most of the ripe blackberries we gathered,
will savor them come snow, come cold.
A day such as this is like yeast in wheat dough—
it’s not there just for taste, it’s the difference
between bread and a brick.
It invites a trust there will be other days
filled with elation. Dig in, it seems to say.
Don’t save for later what can only be lived today.
Even the disbelief that a day could be so good—
that too, tastes so nourishing, so sweet.

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Broken Greens

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on September 11, 2015| 1 Comment »

pulling the carrots

these old hands still learning

how not to rush

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Digging Up Potatoes

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , on August 29, 2015| 3 Comments »

There is no way to know

what we’ll find beneath

the yellowing leaves.

And always I forget

which varieties I’ve planted

and where. And so, when

the Finnish fingerlings appear

just below the surface,

I thrill in their golden

skin and knobby shapes,

and when the dark purple

potatoes emerge from the depths

of the garden bed,

by then, I am already kneeling,

but something inside kneels, too—

oh the russet and red-skinned

and pink-fleshed miracle of it all,

the sheer delight

of running my fingers

through the dirt and

pulling out potatoes,

each one somehow

a surprise, a small reminder

of how beautifully

the world can work,

how the darkness

nourishes such incredible

gifts. Ten hours since

I left the garden, and

whatever inside me knew to kneel

is still enthralled in prayer.

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Picking Blackberries

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , on August 24, 2015| 1 Comment »

with gratitude to Christie and Dave for their generous hearts and abundant backyard

The thickets are always thicker than I think,

climbing the branches of nearby trees and snaking

through the grass. And red berries are always greener

than I wish, full of pucker and startling bite.

But the blackest of berries, the duller ones, bulbous,

and days past their shine, they are sweeter than I dream.

Sometimes I imagine the way a thing will be—

invent it as something grander than itself.

But the blackberry, ripened in its woodland bramble,

stains the fingers and sings on the tongue

with all the sweetness late summer can gather

and spends all its pleasure at once. Sometimes

there is no better fantasy than the thing itself—

the thorns an integral part of the story. Sometimes

I wish that the stain would never leave.

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