Savoring Farmers, Art, and Carrion

page 9 On The Journey (artwork Sharon Kraybill)

"I thank You God for most this amazing day: for the leaping greenly spirits of trees and a blue true dream of sky; and for everything which is natural, which is infinite, which is yes." ~Cummings







On The Journey - Our page for pondering today, includes the above artwork and words: "It's not much that satisfies the soul, but the savoring of a little."

I reflected on the 'muchness' that doesn't satisfy. Maybe I will begin a new daily list including not only what I am savoring, but what is not satisfying.

Savoring -
1. Aroma of cedar.
2. Watching a buck with broken antler chasing a doe around.
3. Listening to carrion. Finding a dead cardinal, pondering sired summer eggs, raised young, signs of resurrection.
4. The way my grandchildren arrive at our house, diving out of car seats, grinning, leaping into my arms.
5. My husband standing up to watch tv last night to keep himself awake so he wouldn't wake me up at 3am this morning to start his day. We both slept until 6am - totally savoring!!

Unsatisfying -
1. Too much interest in news, and Facebook feeds. Scrolling when I'm bored.
2. The jealousy that arises when seeing so many vacation pics, discouragement from reading too many comments on too many posts.
3. Black Friday sales pitches
4. Not listening to carrion. (see following poem)
5. Not expecting the end of the world. (see following poem) Sometimes I get all righteous and think I (we) should overwork, become overwrought in order to prevent it. Forgetting how all things cycle through birth, life, death.


Continuing our reflections, the farmer mentioned how walking the land satisfies him, as does music. Last Saturday, we enjoyed a live concert of bluegrass music: Doyle Lawson & Quicksilver. We went with siblings and their spouses. My farmer loves bluegrass; music I don't seek out. But, I did enjoy it, and was happy to be with family.

Here is the reflection invitation from page 9, On The Journey page:
Pause where you are, for a moment, and remember all the human, animal, plant and earth energies that provide you with comfort or nourishment this day.

What a beautiful invitation for around the Thanksgiving table. Imagine all the farmers, growers, producers, gatherers, sellers, buyers, cooks, feast-ers...and give thanks for all.


In the midst of our unsettled post election world, surprising things are bringing me comfort. The following poem is one. So, I'll leave you with a photo and the poem, while tipping my hat to all fellow Mad Farmers.

Manifesto: The Mad Farmer Liberation Front

(second half)

Ask the questions that have no answers.
Invest in the millennium. Plant sequoias.
Say that your main crop is the forest
that you did not plant,
that you will not live to harvest.
Say that the leaves are harvested
when they have rotted into the mold.
Call that profit. Prophesy such returns.
Put your faith in the two inches of humus
that will build under the trees
every thousand years.

Listen to carrion -- put your ear
close, and hear the faint chattering
of the songs that are to come.
Expect the end of the world. Laugh.
Laughter is immeasurable. Be joyful
though you have considered all the facts.
So long as women do not go cheap
for power, please women more than men.
Ask yourself: Will this satisfy
a woman satisfied to bear a child?
Will this disturb the sleep
of a woman near to giving birth?

Go with your love to the fields.
Lie down in the shade. Rest your head
in her lap. Swear allegiance
to what is nighest your thoughts.
As soon as the generals and the politicos
can predict the motions of your mind,
lose it. Leave it as a sign
to mark the false trail, the way
you didn't go.
Be like the fox
who makes more tracks than necessary,
some in the wrong direction.
Practice resurrection.

~ Wendell Berry ~

A Second Infusion of Hope

This past Sunday, after seeing all the new memes pop up over and over on Facebook, the quick fixes, the escape routes – so many have no idea how to honor emotions, how to hold chaos and stillness,  truth in every perspective, and paradox, in themselves or in others – I simply could not bear perpetuating my own status quo.

So I went to a church service outside my ethnic group, outside my faith tradition.

Despite my discomfort at not knowing what was coming next in the service, of being white in a sea of color, of not-so-great singing, and faith language that doesn’t resonate, I experienced something deep and authentic.  My mind struggled to label, but my heart knew immediately:  love.  

The people, the pastor, the gathered body simply radiated love and welcome.  Not so much through spoken language, as in body language. The whole service was simple, the humans  were humble, fearful, faithful, hopeful, prayerful, tearful, joyful – everything thoroughly infused with love. No evidence of cliques, of who’s in and out, who’s powerful and not, just a genuine spirit of because you are here, you are one of us. 

Sheesh.

Holy ground. 

A balm to my weary soul!  

As wonderful as the full moon, the earth under my feet, the birds, the rocks and trees....

An Infusion of Hope

This is an excerpt from the book On The Journey.  My sweet farmer agreed to go through this book with me, one page each day, during our breakfast. And attempt to share his experience with me, as I share with him.

He is not a poet. In fact, he is a simple man of few words. He works with his hands, mostly outdoors, and sleeps indoors. Nothing moves him like music and nature. For him, God - and whatever the theologians pin on that word doesn't mean a whole lot to him - only sings, and plays music, and whispers through our beautiful, mysterious world. (I actually typed word before realizing and changed it to world - I'm so human!). I get his joy of music and nature too, though half of me is gifted or cursed by intrigue of words.  While lectures, presentations, art, and sermons often ignite small fires within me; he often just falls asleep. Not because he's bored or disrespectful, just because it's warm and soft inside, perhaps like a womb where he was rocked, intuitively and primally, to sleep by Mother God.

I used to be highly insulted by his sleeping. (I'm so human!)  Granted sometimes he sleeps to escape, just as I often physically remove myself from conflict and overwhelm. We both do this whether it's mature of us or not.

That is all leading up to this: I'm deeply touched by his trust of our relationship and his willingness to sit with me in my arena of joy, the written word, and participate fully, being as present as possible.

This book is part of my own offerings to the world. I worked with an awesome team in dreaming, editing, creating to bring this book into fruition. I wrote many of the reflection questions to entries, and also have written entries in the book. I hope to soon include the link to purchasing the book on this blog. Stay tuned.

I may use this blog to post some of the farmer's and my musings as we go through this book. With his permission. Including this one.

The above photo is the page for today. We ate our delicious breakfast while reading, taking in the photo, sitting silently together opening our hearts to the reflection questions. Then we shared. I mentioned how appropriate this page was for today, for a time like this. My soul has a candle lit always in solidarity with the most vulnerable in our world. What do I need from God: reassurance, hope, Presence. Words of comfort and trust from others. For most of my ramble Jay was silent. When it was his turn to share, he remained silent. For a   L O N G   time. Just when hints of irritation began humming inside my head, (I'm just so human) he said this.

"I need to see the big buck outside. The one that has been leaving scrapes all over our trees and pawing up the dirt. That's what I need from God."

I smiled. I have seen plenty of red birds when I needed them. But, we have never seen the buck other than in our game camera. We gathered up breakfast dishes to wash later, harnessed up the dogs, and headed toward the lane to walk the half mile to our mailbox. And, there across our lane, standing in a brilliant patch of sunlight at the edge of the wood, was the Eight Point in all his glory. This magnificent buck saw us and simply stood, meeting our gaze. Then, he scraped a nearby tree with his antlers and pawed the ground. A few moments later, he lifted  his head and returned our gaze before walking calmly into the woods.

Sheesh.

Holy ground.

God with antlers and fur, gazing at us! Sending power and strength, hope, wonder and joy straight into our opened hearts.

Luke 11:9  "Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you." 

May you ask, so that you too receive what you need today. May the God of hope and love touch your open, waiting heart. 

Ode To Joy!

Burren

One must have a mind of a dog,

To experience utter joy in rot! Exuberance

Rolled, with a great body thump, head first

Onto death.  A hearty sniff, a gleam of eye,

Wide grin, the ears hit decay first, followed

By furry cheek and thwack of shoulder on  

Carcass. Be it worm, rodent or dead coyote -

All is an ode to joy! Festering stink,

Maggoty ruin, skull or pelt – for every dog a

Feast and bath.  

For what does the human engage wholeheartedly?

One must have the mind of a dog

To leap and bounce at the jingle of harness

And rope, land explored as it were India or

The tropics! A cacophony of scent and color,

Pulsing heartbeats of deer and possum lain

Down in scat and track.  Exuberance magnified

by allure of musk and skunk.  Overripe berries and

browning apples equally gobbled and

swallowed.

While we, one second short of burnout, scrabble on short leashes, cagey, our own choosing. 

Turnip