Gathering the Harvest

written by

Drausin Wulsin

posted on

September 17, 2015



091715.jpg

28092e11-a086-4cdc-b7a7-f2ba28e6ecd2.jpg

2445b74c-9275-459e-8556-7f8696f5f102.jpg

Fall is the season of harvest.

As we broach this time of year, Nature's bounty presents itself. The Paw Paw tree, on the left, is renowned throughout Appalachia, giving name to countless festivals and celebrations in the region. Perhaps nowhere does the 20-ft tree grow better than in the under-story of hardwood forests in southern Ohio. The mango-like fruit ripens in early September, and was always a treasured delicacy for Native Americans and early settlers. It is now being bred for domestic production, to be delivered to urban tables more readily.

Witness as well the hickory nut above on the right, ready to drop and spread its seed. As we nurture our nascent sylvan hog operation, these nuts offer ever more value. We expect to harvest our glorious porcines in November.

091715a.jpg

The cows have begun calving, presenting to us yet again the constant wonder of birth by mighty animals.

091715b.jpg

Not only are we gathering fruit, nuts, pork, and calves during this season, but we are also gathering stones. Below is the previously mentioned memorial to parents, fuller and deeper than the initial iteration. I have been pondering the meaning of building stone walls, and marvel at the old-world craftsmen of Italy, Ireland, and Kentucky, who always found the right place for the stone in hand. Doing so takes more than a strong back and thick arms, but a capacity to visualize what the empty space is calling for and to listen to where the hard stone wants to rest. It is magical to lay a heavy stone down in the perfect place, without trying. How does that happen? It seems to come through a meditation.

091715c.jpg

More from the blog

Sacred Place

It is a privilege to know a sacred place, as I feel I do. In some ways, it seems sacred places are supposed to be scarce and remote, like Stonehenge, Chartres Cathedral, the Taj Mahal, or abandoned Pueblo dwellings. Large landscapes, like the desert, ocean, or mountain ranges feel imbued with the divine. Alaska, the Amazon, and the Serengeti invite a sense of awe. One travels to such places, in pilgrimage. And sometimes such places reorganize the pilgrim's sense of order, inviting disorder or change, that can be both painful and uplifting.

Big Muddy

Here is the Lower Mississippi River, 45 feet below normal pool. Over Thanksgiving, Susan and I shoehorned ourselves onto a cruise ship to learn about the lower Mississippi and its bayou. We started in Memphis and ended up in New Orleans, with stops along the way to explore river towns. This river is the third longest on the planet, providing drainage to 40% of North America. It has historically deposited silt yearly in its floodplains, producing topsoil 120 feet deep, making these soils some of the richest in the world. Vast wetland forests grew beside its banks, of cypress, oaks, and sycamores, populated by a rich array of black bears, deer, bobcats, alligators, and aquatic life. This was the legendary bayou.

Streams & Souls

Streams and souls seem to share character. They are life-giving, they are coveted, they can be impeded, they can be channelized, they can be overwhelmed, they flood, they dry up, they flow downhill, they are a force of both change and constancy, they lie at the center of a community, they will not be denied, and because of this great complexity, they attract periodic resistance. So, it seems that streams may serve as a metaphor for the journey of the soul.