Harvesting the Wisdom of the Seasons
Unlikely as it is, it is again September. Amidst our busy days, we again have the luxury to face our own personal harvest.
Manifest from dreaming earlier in the winter, tilling in the spring and sowing in the summer, we now reap the bountiful harvest of our efforts and dreams in these cooler days of autumn.
The summer’s sun no longer slants with unnerving heat. September’s sunrays are a warming reprieve from the cooling night air. We harvest the tall sunflowers that have been growing all season, bedecking our counters with rich yellow pollen. And then we watch as the petals shrivel and dry, the seeds exposed for our eating and saving to plant next year. There is a sadness in the slow wilting of a flower. But there is joy too, both in the present enjoyment of beauty, and also in knowing we have seeds for next year’s planting.
I am watching this seasonal progression from the delightful height of my new second-story office in our new home high up on an eastern hill in Calais, Vermont. Finally, we have a home and land that is our very own. I was sad not to plant a garden this year as our move did not allow the time to grow one. But still, I see the plight of summer’s flowers, still I know the feeling of autumn’s sad joy.
Joy comes with the fresh breeze, the sense that the stones I started rolling downhill last spring are just now coming to fruition. Conversations that started in the spring ripened into dialogue over the summer and have now blossomed into working partnerships, new clients, a business plan for my new podcast, professional headshots for my website, and a book edited into good form.
Sadness too comes in many shades: not being as far along the journey as I had perhaps planned or hoped (it’s hard to get a lot of work done during a move, with a toddler), watching the long days shorten with dramatic sunsets, and knowing that there is a lot of work left for me to do before the richness of my new business unfolds. But there are sparks in there, sparks of fresh joy and anticipation. Sparks of vision clarifying, of new projects unfurling where I least expected.We are all born, live and then die. The seasons show us this year after year. And I am left, once again, here at the beginning of this bountiful season of harvest, with that slight suspicion that the most important thing of all is just to ride the waves. The sun and breeze and even those flowers remind me again and again to just be. Enjoy the flowers, taste the seeds, and relish the simplicity of pure sadjoy.