Storing Up Summer
August has come in lush this year. Rainfall has been regular and even above
average for this entire summer. There
have been plenty of summers where, by now, the grass would be dormant, brown
and brittle, like the lifeless needles that fall from the big white pines in
the yard. Those kinds of summers I can
get away with mowing every two and a half weeks; if it weren’t for the clover
and dandelions I wouldn’t have to mow at all.
But this summer I have needed to mow the grass every five days to stay
on top of it.
Despite the green of the season remaining deep and
vibrant, there are some signs that summer is beginning to wane. The sun set at 8:00 locally the other
evening. That will be the last time it
sets in the 8:00 hour until next spring.
The ditches along the road are blooming with chicory and queen Anne’s
lace. Yesterday I saw a flock of geese
that have been feeding on the bay all summer settle into a local wheat field
that had been recently harvested.
Although it has been mostly quiet here since late May, soon every
morning and every evening the air will be filled with the honking of geese as
they fly out to feed in the fields as they get harvested. It is always the grain fields where they will
gather and gather until they reach critical mass and head southward.
The gardens have reached the stage of ripening. So, it has begun in earnest. Earlier this week Michelle and I canned
carrots. They will come in handy when we
make stews and soups this coming winter.
This morning, we spent a couple of hours canning and freezing a bushel
of peaches. Peaches are not commonly
grown in Wisconsin; we’re too far north for fruit growers to risk having a
reliable crop for sale. For us, they are
a treat that are only available for a few weeks in late summer. A peach pie in February is a slice of hope
that will help bolster spirits that may be under two feet of snow, or battling
subzero temperatures.
As I say, this is just the beginning. There will be green beans, tomatoes, pears
and applesauce to come yet. We have
plenty of room right now on the shelves in the basement and in the chest
freezer as most of what was stored of last year’s abundance has been consumed.
Is it possible then, to actually store summer? Can you capture its fullness, its ripeness? You could argue, if you are feeling
especially contrary these days, that it all is at least one step removed from
its reality. Even the apple that is
tasted immediately upon picking has been separated from the tree. The canned peach tasted next winter is at
least six times and many days separated if you consider all the steps from the
orchard to that winter night. So, it is
always a bit lesser than, even though it is still delicious.
There is only one thing though, that is always its
fullness – that is the consecrated host.
The host is never even one step removed from the source, because He because
the host is always and exactly what it is from.
Even though He feeds multitudes, the host is always united in the
oneness of His united nature - the fullness of Christ, which is always the
fullness of the Father and the fullness of the Holy Spirit. The host can be held in human hands and yet contains
the enormity of God’s love. He is always new, always fresh, always ripe, always
sweet, always for the many, and yet always personal.
“Then he took the bread, said the
blessing, broke it, and gave it to them, saying, “This is my body, which will
be given for you; do this in memory of me.” And likewise, the cup after they had eaten,
saying, “This cup is the new covenant in my blood, which will be shed for you.” Luke
22:19-20
His Peace <><
Deacon Dan
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