Home is Where the Harvest Is

My fingers plunge into the soft, dark loam, feeling its pulse.

Images pass in review, snapshots of simpler times

When we tended our small plot in the Wyoming soil, together.

Tilling the hard earth deep, paving the way for new roots.

The air smelled of fresh peat and sunshine and togetherness.

I worked shirtless too long and paid the toll in blisters.

Row upon row, we seeded, weeded and watered with love

While tender shoots became vigorous homes for their fruits.

Did you know I often stopped to watch you work?

Small hands grooming Mother Earth, face glowing with the connection.

Nurturing rewarded, we marveled at the bounty she provided.

Warned of an early frost, we launched a day-long campaign, and hoped.

Christmas lights, laths and bed sheets glowed like a lost spaceship.

The cold came and went, without a single casualty under the covers.

The neighbors received a share of the rewards. Giving was easy.

You preserved portions of tomatoes, okra, peppers and more.

Melons matured on the porch when they outgrew their space.

Pumpkin pies, pumpkin soup, pickled okra and beets, savored and shared.

Marveling at the beauty of the potato blossoms.

You're watching me, now, questions and answers in your eyes.

No explanation needed. We both know there's no time, here and now.

Standing, I brush my hands on my jeans and you give me a playful scowl.

Sowing and reaping will come again, when we've returned home.

Hand in hand, we turn to the tasks of the day,

Dreaming of harvests to come.

***

Much to my dismay, the photos of our last garden in Wyoming are lost somewhere. Pam and I have always taken pride in our vegetable gardens, and we've left tilled soil in Wyoming, Oregon and Texas. The rows of full canning jars have dwindled alarmingly over the years, and it's almost time to "get back to our roots". (Was there a pun in there?)

Thanks for reading!

Created for the "Harvest of Memory" Challenge: