Friends in Tulsa
are growing their own vegetables
in their relatively small backyard.
I get messages
of their prodigious harvest:
“Took salad for 20
to neighborhood potluck.”
“The beets are delicious!”
“Twenty tomatoes on one plant!”
The sharing of vegetable counts
and recipes
and happy meals
is no small thing.
What we are really sharing
is the indescribable pleasure
of eating delicious food
we’ve grown ourselves.
It’s indescribable -
only in recipes and vegetable counts and inept adjectives -
because eating food you have grown
is participating in something
deep and meaningful,
mysterious and sacred.
We are participating in something
that seems miraculous:
a tiny tomato seed
and now, Gazpacho!
Participating in something miraculous
that connects us to an unseen system
of creativity and life.
Connecting to an unseen system of life
that results in the warmth and care
of something as intimate
as putting food in the mouth.
Scrumptious food in the mouth:
red-skinned potato
pulled from the loamy earth
cooked until just tender
and while still warm
tossed in cider vinegar and dill,
fresh-picked skinny green beans
cooked into a brighter green
but still crunchy,
red onion plucked from the crusty soil
and chopped finely,
dried tomatoes,
grated parmesan,
olive oil,
salt and pepper.
Served with quarters of Purple Cherokee Tomato,
still warm from the sun.
On the patio,
in the shade of the Hackberry
and the breeze off the pond.
Earth gifts.
Sheer joy.
Life shared.
