After church, and after the nap that came next, I took my motorscooter and rode out into the country, past fields and woods, past the meetinghouse where we were married and where my father-in-law is buried, where we will likely be with him when that time comes.
From the farmstand I brought back three ears of fresh corn, two large and very ripe heirloom tomatoes, some fresh mozzarella, and this photo.
A little balsamic dressing, a little butter, some salt, and I will dine well tonight. My spirit has already been nourished.
I’m glad to live in a place where it’s still possible to feel connected to the earth, which sustains us through life, and is there to receive us at the end.
“We are mortal, formed of the earth, and to earth shall we return.”
Small-town life is a blessing, but it has its odd moments. I know which families have the plots around ours. Some of their people are already at rest there. I looked around at the other shoppers in the aisle where I was pushing my grocery cart one afternoon and realized that all of us in that section at that moment would likely spend eternity in close proximity. The communion of saints. Or, as they say at Solebury Friends Meeting, the Friends across the road.