A Harvest Reflection
Yes, tins and packets for Wellspring to save lives. But no smell of harvest to uplift the soul. No bright apples and squashes to gladden the eye. No sheaves of corn to remind us of our daily bread . To keep us in touch with the earth.
Surrounded by bricks, concrete and tarmac, our lives dominated by traffic and planes overhead. Creatures of the earth, coming from the earth and returning to it. Dependent on the soil, yet distancing ourselves from it.
Plastic bagged apples and potatoes. Cucumbers tightly wrapped. Tomatoes in a tub. Hygienic and convenient. Clean and perfect. Not an ugly fruit, or off centre vegetable among them.
“Pick up the windfalls, they are the sweetest apples. Just cut out the grub and the bit where the bird has pecked it.” Two children in stocking feet emerge from the potato field. Their wellies full of potatoes. “Look what we’ve found.” Discovery in the dirt.
Fields, gardens, allotments. The smell of damp earth. Digging, sowing, gathering from garden, tree and hedge. Coal miners tending primulas in smoky back yards. An instinct to connect.
Daily thanks for our daily bread. For the fruits of the earth. The fruits of labour across the globe.
Chris Dawson