Summer greens are everywhere around here - thanks to rains and heavy dew. The days have been so humid (typical WV July) that even I am thankful for air conditioning.
Maggie days have transformed into canning days. Every year I think next summer we'll just grow enough garden for the table and for sharing. And every year we check the canning shelves and decide we could always do with a few more quarts of this or that. This summer it's green beans. We did the first two canners yesterday - Roma II, which have become a favorite for lots of reasons. No strings, good flavor and good canners even when they've grown on the vine past peak.
This year Wayne also planted some pole beans and half-runners...just for old times sake. The sapling teepees cut and covered with bean vines used to be a familiar sight on gardens that grew on any lot of any size. These days we don't see so many gardens. Tha't a loss on several levels.
Wayne's 'old-times sake' backs me into the kitchen, but he is so good to help that I could hardly be so mean as to complain. Assuredly kitchen assistance is not quite fair as he does the planting, tilling, tending and picking. But hey, we all know he's addicted to work, right? And did you notice those rocks? We think they come up from China, as they seem to surface no matter how many you gather and haul to the creek banks.
I'm not immue to the call of tradition myself ...though my call usually takes the form of quilts not canning. Call or no, I know not to plan too much sewing during garden times. Garden times are so much a part of "what we knew first" that it is hard to give it up, especially for Wayne. That is evident in spite of the fact that I no longer do a stitch of work there - except for taking the farmer a drink of water from time to time.
Without
living in the past, we are still bound to memories of it. That is a blessing
and I'm really thankful the Lord designed our minds with memory banks.
SINGULAR PASSAGES
Passages once traveled will seldom
reappear -
Stronger, then, incentive for holding
them as dear.
Some are set indelibly and easily
revived;
Others blend in patterns indistinct,
but still alive.
Scenes of fond remembrance seem to etch
on glass
Lines to lend fresh import to portraits
of the past -
Ne'er to be forgotten, or lessen in
their worth
E'en when tethered well beyond the
reach of mortal earth.
Who can weigh the value e'er they
travel on
Of ethereal summers basking 'neath the
sun?
Once the snow has melted, magic glows
no more...
Scales will find a balance true on far
more distant shores.
Is the heart ungrateful - just
redeeming time,
Scarcely comprehending the reason or
the rhyme?
Who can know the pattern, gather up
control;
Weaving through the tapestry the
threads that form the whole?
Time may not uncover hidden meanings of
The raptures of a moment, the painful
loss of love...
Soaring hearts, descending tears alike
must understand
The soul will win its vict'ry by His
near, Almighty Hand.
Patience molds the passage with resolve
to hold
Faith for the duration, nurture for the
soul -
Pausing and reflecting while memories
yet yearn...
For hard it is to turn them free and
not wish for return.
