(quote by May Sarton, Now I Become Myself)
At Koinonia I have experienced an awakening of sorts, the
growth of a seed which was planted in my heart in Houston when we planted the
literal seeds of our community garden, when we ate sunburst tomatoes warm off
the branch, and handed out bags of yellow zucchini to our friends and
neighbors. Similarly at Koinonia I have discovered that there is nothing quite
like picking ripe figs off our trees, eating potatoes grown in our rich red
soil, blending up such an earthy green concoction of pesto, that first juicy
bite into muscadine, the look on my English students' faces when I hand them a
bag of fresh pears...Beautiful, organic produce yielding abundantly out my
window. I left home to seek out solidarity with the poor, but this is luxury
beyond compare. Day after day I walk out to find even more yellow pear
tomatoes, more basil, more figs, more peppers...I stopped purchasing personal
grocery items because homemade yogurt and pecans, fresh eggs, herbal tea, and
toast spread with blueberry jam is a breakfast to be grateful for.
The financially poor are often at the mercy of what is
available and cheap in local stores, which means Walmart gets a lot of
business. It was Clarence Jordan's vision to see the poor of Americus have
access to good food from their own backyards. But I suppose people have to want
it first. When Farmer Fred asked my Houston neighbor, 9-year-old Angel, “What
will you eat if the vegetables don't grow?” He answered matter-of-factly, “My
Lunchable.”
Prophets of our time, Wendell Berry and Joel Salitan, recognize
the layers of problems and struggles facing this generation. But they also
recognize, in the words of Berry: “The roots of the
problem are private or personal, and the roots of the solutions will be private
or personal too” (The Gift of Good Land).
I cannot make others adopt this wonderful way of life, but I
can live it out faithfully on a personal level, and hope in the manner of Van
Gogh:
“Do our inner thoughts ever show outwardly? There may be a
great fire in our soul, yet no one ever comes to warm himself at it, and the
passers-by see only a wisp of smoke coming from the chimney, and go along their
way. Look here, now, what must be done? Must one tend that inner fire, have
salt in oneself, wait patiently yet with how much impatience for the hour when
somebody will come and sit down near it – maybe to stay? Let him who believes
in God wait for the hour that will come sooner or later.” (Letter 133)
I don't mean to come across presumptuous. My life is not
perfect. But I have found several immeasurable gifts in this little pocket of
the country. And I would welcome you to hold me accountable to continuing to
practice those gifts in my life post-Koinonia. Gifts of growing my own food in
good, healthy soil. Finding joy in the simple tasks of fermentation and creative
preservation. Sustainable consumption. Sharing the abundance...
There is much I have learned in one year, and I look forward
to what richness one more year on this good land holds. My self-confidence has
grown in bounds. I've cultivated a spirit that finds joy in the harvest,
creative cooking and use of natural resources. I've met a plethora of
remarkable people who have touched my life. I've been introduced to authors and
speakers and thinkers who shake the way I view the world and interact with Jesus.
Soaking up the sunshine of southern Georgia
I have learned new ways of measuring time
Candles and kittens
Paintings and potlucks
Pecans and prayer bells
Paper cranes and pressed flowers
Mosquito bites and worn-out jeans
Jars of pickles and homemade ginger ale
Exchanging letters with friends new and old
Dark chocolate and cups of coffee beneath the mulberry tree
Visitors and stories shared
Hymns and laughter echoing into the night
Postage stamps and boxes shipped
Peaches, blackberries, blueberries, figs, pears, tomatoes
and grapes...
I measure seasons according to where the sun rises and sets,
and where I find Orion in the night sky.
As Rilke says, there is no measuring with time itself, but
being an artist (or perhaps a human being) means patiently ripening like a
tree. I think I'm getting a better idea of what that means.
Peace and hope be yours in abundance
