Tags: Beauty, eating ethically, fast food restaurants, learning food preservation skills, Nature as an endless giver, not resisting what is, pollinator, rosebush, roses planted as roadside landscaping, the challenges of eating locally, the serenity prayer, tiny bee, travel restrictions on eating organic, ugliness turned into Beauty
Y’all are not going to believe where I caught this little guy in motion. It wasn’t the Victory Garden, although being aware enough to appreciate this forgotten Beauty was a kind of victory.
Doesn’t he look like he needs sound effects? Definitely some kind of zoom. But in reality, he was completely silent — or at least, we could not hear his tiny wings whirring because they were lost in the rush of traffic on the nearby highway, the roar of a passing semi. I captured this scene when F. and I stopped at a fast food restaurant conveniently built near an exit ramp on the Interstate. We’d stopped for lunch on the road trip home after four days of various family Thanksgiving celebrations in Georgia.
Obviously, it is not always possible to eat ethically-responsible, locally-grown, organic food. In my daydreams, every bite is an affirmation of my core values and supports the reorganization of my culture in a way that might allow us to survive and even thrive as a family, as a region, as a nation, and as a species. But the truth is, we’re far from that still, and the truth of this hits home especially during the winter months and when we travel.
Right now, I’m learning that old lesson of the serenity prayer, to accept what I cannot change — yet. I admit that I dream big, and I do mentally add the “yet” to many of those things I recognize as outside my realm of influence. This wisdom of acceptance, especially acceptance practiced over and over again, often seems beyond my grasp.
I’m planning to learn to preserve the summer’s bounty, by canning, pickling, lacto-fermenting, and dehydrating. But all of these skills require tools first, and then serious education, and until I have a bigger kitchen and money for the tools, and maybe a more permanent place to put down some roots, I’ll be sticking to my old plan of giving away the extras to neighbors and friends.
It’s not so much a plan, I tell myself, as a way of life. Even when I have those skills and tools, I hope I’ll keep giving away love and laughter and empathy and fresh produce to neighbors and family and friends. Some things just spoil with keeping.
Look how Nature just gives and gives and gives away all the day long, in season or out. This picture was taken during November’s twilight hours, in a spot that man has rendered inhospitable and ugly, and yet the roses glowed and gave freely of their grace and beauty to any who would pause long enough to notice, and gave of their nectar to every little visitor who still craved a sip at season’s end.
The rosebushes did not pout because they weren’t planted in a perfect dream garden, but instead their roots crowded into a pitiful grassy median between two black-topped parking lots. There was no resistance whatsoever… only acceptance, and gentle growth, and blooms.