This year’s apple pressing garnered more cider than usual, for the abundance of fruit. More rain produced the proverbial “good year”—more, because our son and daughter-in-law were able to visit, John to hunt per his tradition, and Sami, able to relax and not work “remotely,” as the saying goes. The grandkids didn’t come this time—their studies taking preference as they’re growing older and the responsibility weightier.
We invited friends to turn the crank and became acquainted with new faces in the neighborhood—by which I mean our small community. One couple we have known long had to leave early because their left-at-home dog had decided to pursue from their ranch unbeknownst to them and was fortunately apprehended by a neighbor. A Lab-hound mix, she regularly shows Dan and Alice how she cannot live without them and goes to great lengths to prove it—absolutely destroying a kennel, or diving through a screen on an open window. Alice called to regale me with more exploits, laughing all the while. She has more patience than I.
For the pressing, Sami arranged a spectacular charcuterie board—all right, snacking tray—with slices of salami formed into rosettes, tucked in between crackers, cheeses, grapes, and nuts. (I would have merely plopped stuff on the tray.) She is gifted. Our gifts are our teachers I heard the other day on some podcast… Dan Harris’s I believe. I am contemplating this nugget—as well as contemplation in general. It puts things into perspective. Later, as Sami stood by using a small paring knife to remove blemishes, etc., from the apples being fed to the press mouth, I offered to spell her a while. She declined, saying the work was therapeutic. And I understood. Another morsel I’ve recently heard, in the imperative, is: Work at leisure. Meaning, to work at a leisurely pace, and not how I first heard it (to work at being free of responsibilities and care, though it <could> mean this). It would certainly cut down on foolish accidents and the like.
A Good Year. Taken as a whole, the lessons we have learned, and those we continue to learn from our gifts, temper and refine us as a fire would. As Jeff and I view Ken Burns’ most excellent new series, The American Revolution, we are struck by its profound importance at this time. As if ordained. As though prescribed. May Peace Prevail—echoes my unceasing prayer.
Braeburn Croft 