Welcome to another Thursday and another CSA pickup from the WEI Farm at Amador Hill. The clouds, the rain and Autumn's earth tone palette made for a somber drive. Spring and Summer's vibrant verdancy is morphing into browns, tans, and dull yellows brightened by the occasional patch of red sumac and exuberantly flame colored maple.
On the other hand, one of the local cedar trees (actually a juniper?) has a very impressive crop of berries starting to blue up. I'm not sure we'll harvest them but you never know.
Speaking of harvest, our pear tree is dropping pears which, I'm sure, is making the deer happy. We'll need to see about getting a human share someday soon.
When I've had thoughts similar to those Robert Morgan writes about, I've pictured my atoms becoming part of a butterfly.
Living Tree
By Robert Morgan
It’s said they planted trees by graves
to soak up spirits of the dead
through roots into the growing wood.
The favorite in the burial yards
I knew was common juniper.
One could do worse than pass into
such a species. I like to think
that when I’m gone the chemicals
and yes the spirit that was me
might be searched out by subtle roots
and raised with sap through capillaries
into an upright, fragrant trunk,
and aromatic twigs and bark,
through needles bright as hoarfrost to
the sunlight for a century
or more, in wood repelling rot
and standing tall with monuments
and statues there on the far hill,
erect as truth, a testimony,
in ground that’s dignified by loss,
around a melancholy tree
that’s pointing toward infinity.
Thanks for listening. Come again when you can. rants, raves and reflections served here daily.
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