End of the Season

The weather has changed significantly. It is a little early for fall but we had a very early hot summer so the cooler weather comes with some relief. I walked through my garden this morning and picked the almost ripe tomatoes that will surely ripen while sitting in a basket on the kitchen table. There were beans of course and a few green peppers and ground cherries ready to pick, along with many green tomatoes that can ripen slowly until the cold weather sets in. I like green tomatoes sauteed and added to scrambles and sauces so it is never a problem to use them up. The corn stalks could come down except that the beans are wound around them and still producing. The sunflowers are ready to drop seeds so I will bring them in later today and spread them on a screen to dry.

There is comfort in the rhythm of the seasons as they come and go, something to rely on when the world of humans becomes unsteady or chaotic. The fall as the ending time of my garden has been a time for me to think of the coming and going of human life; of my parents, my mother who is quite elderly and all who have gone before me. I think of my own life and ponder the effect of time and seasons. There is something orderly to grandchildren growing, budding into the people they are meant to be, of the young adults blossoming, and the older generations gently greying until it is time to fade away. It is the order that is meant to be.

A week ago the younger brother of my son-in-law was killed by a falling tree. He was too young to die; a father of two little girls, a husband, a man well liked, he had much to live for. His death sent ripples through the whole family, sorrow first but also anxiety because his death reminds everyone that life can change in a flash. There is no rhythm to bring comfort to his parents or siblings, spouse or children. Such an ending is out of order and leaves too many questions about the mystery or meaning of life. Only time can wrap a cushion around their pain - never taking it completely away - just providing a buffer so that life can continue. 

And so we gather together and speak kindly. We remember that we love each other and that life is precious, a gift that we are given for a time, a season. We hug a little more, respond a little sooner, take more time to be with the people we love, knowing that we don't ever know how long we have.