A New Kind of Harvest
The harvest isn’t as bountiful this year; sometimes you do not get to reap what you sow.
My body has always been in tune with the seasonality of the calendar. Summer brings romance. Winter brings calm. Spring brings hope. Fall is no different— a stirring for a new start and desire for routine. Perhaps it’s due to the nineteen years of education that have conditioned me to feel this way, or, maybe, it’s something a little deeper. I keep finding the soil of the earth and I can relate.
And even with all this anticipation— I can’t help but be disappointed. My harvest was not what I expected it to be this year. As an urban gardener of sorts, I plant in places others would never see as rewarding, but I know good ground when I see it.
Without steady rain and wind, however, my garden started to wither this year. Sure, there has been fruit— but it wasn’t what I wanted. In years past we laughed at the absurdity of it’s abundance. Now, we are left to crawl through weeds to find leaned over cherry tomatoes that have hid themselves from the harshness of the sun. The harvest is there, but we’ve had to dig for it.
The fruit feels like a failure. This is not what I planted. This is not what I had hoped for.
I had hoped for some clarity at this point in my life, but approaching thirty has actually meant leaving cheap answers and shallow platitudes for the wide open field of doubt and wonder. Planting hope after hope in first dates, I assumed I would have met a man by now— one that could partner with me to till up the soil of this life. But most of my hard work is still being done alone. I keep falling in love with friends, planting my whole self into their lives, only to watch them pack up and leave. I’ve recently stumbled over weeds I’ve ignored for quite some time and their roots have only revealed abuse in many forms. This undoing has led to more counseling and remembering and healing. After planting over a decade of my life in the Church, I can barely walk through the front doors.
Somedays, it all feels like a failure. This is not what I planted. This is not what I hoped for.
The garden of my life is unruly. Untamed. Wild, even. But, then again, I know good ground when I see it.
Fall ushers in a time of thanksgiving for those whose planting has rewarded them. But what happens when your harvest is lackluster at best? What do you do when you keep planting, but Fall only reminds you that everything just keeps dying?
I’m learning I am in good company. Those that find lush foliage falling to the ground to only discover their limbs and roots. Death does that to you— winnowing you down to the most important.
If there is anything that the seasonality of life teaches us, it’s that only after death can anything be resurrected. This cycle seems to bear markings of another story. One that tells us it will never end in death.
The few cherry tomatoes we harvested are now sitting in my kitchen. I made a basil cream sauce out of them last night,inspired by their beauty. This wasn’t at all what I had planned for, but the recipe fit the moment. And I’m learning you gotta go with what you got.
You can wait with me if you’d like— for the resurrection of our collective hopes and dreams. We can hold space with each other, as we watch what we longed for die. Today, let me be the friend that holds your hand tenderly and whispers in your ear, “There is a new kind of harvest we haven’t yet seen. It doesn’t end in death. Just, wait.”
Today, I’m okay with not reaping what I sow— grace seems to grow more than enough for me.
CONSIDER THESE QUESTIONS:
What hasn’t gone as planned and what do you need to let go of?
Where do you see hope for resurrection in your life?
What can you make out of what you have as a way to practice gratitude?
BASIL CREAM SAUCE
INGREDIENTS
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 teaspoon minced garlic
2 cups of fresh tomatoes
2 tablespoon fresh basil
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon crushed red pepper or to taste (optional)
freshly ground black pepper to taste
1/2 cup heavy cream
1/2 cup finely shredded Parmesan
⅓ cup fresh basil for topping
Heat olive oil in a 12-inch saute pan over MEDIUM-LOW heat. Add garlic and cook, stirring occasionally, for 2 to 3 minutes. Add the tomatoes and basil cooking for another 2 minutes. Finally, add cream and parmesan cooking on low for 15 minutes stirring often. Toss into a blender and blend until smooth. Pour over your favorite pasta, fish, rice or just about anything to make it delicious.