The Great Transition
You can see autumn’s approach if you look closely. The grass is still spring-green here thanks to bountiful rainfall — but there’s a look about the trees. The leaves have the slightest, rusty hue. They’re tired of vivid green and preparing to slip into the twilight of their lives.
It seems there are bees buzzing in every corner of our house. Paper wasps decided under the roof overhang at the front of the house was an ideal place to build a whopper of a nest. We’re working on that one. And one day while mowing, I discovered honeybees buzzing in and out of an old maple tree. We’ve been scheming about how to collect the honey — so far no one is as brave as Pa in Little House In the Big Woods.
He found a bee tree, chopped it down and split it in two. He said he collected “… enough good, clean honey to last us a long time.” And Laura asked, “Didn’t the bees sting you?”
“Oh, no,” Pa said. “Bees never sting me.”
None of us here at Tuckaway Farm can comfortably say such a thing, so our bee tree continues to stand. And we dream of frosty days when we’ll collect maple sap — and quite possibly honey, from the tree. Can you get honey from a tree in February? We shall see.
School is in session and little brains are being stretched with all sorts of things.
“Sum, es, est, sumus, estis, sunt”
Who am I kidding? Old brains are being stretched, too!
The transition continues … from carefree summer days in wild abandon, to scheduled hours and disciplined work and structured learning. And then there are the evenings — a golden hour or two between chores and bedtime, when books are opened. Not for memorizing or studying, mind you, but for pure pleasure. Last night I looked up from my own book to see a boy silently mouthing the words within his Magic Tree House book, a lanky daughter sprawled half-on and half-off the couch, and another girl flat on her stomach, both with noses deep in books of their own. Gratitude filled my soul … for the gift of reading, the power of knowledge, and the freedom and blessing of a quiet evening within the safety of home.
I said a prayer for those on the other side of the world who are, perhaps at this very moment, clutching their children, praying for safety, and cowering within the walls of THEIR homes. It is estimated that since July 8, nearly 4,600 rockets — about 90 per day — have been fired on Israel. And then there are the abominations occurring in Iraq and yeah, everywhere else including the U.S. By accident, I stumbled upon a photo from across the ocean, where evil terrorist demons — I cannot call them men — were crucifying little boys. It is crushing.
Yes, we are in transition — the where, how, why and to what purpose I do not know. No one does. But there are clues and signs and the original road map that lends a conclusion or two.
The tune of our daily lives is rapidly changing. The melody is a rising crescendo and no one knows when it will slow or hush. Quiet is no longer a reality … thoughts speak louder than words and my thoughts are often jumbled with a mixture of anger and fear, hostility and repulsion. A quick glance at headlines is enough to disillusion even the most stalwart optimist. Yet, there is hope. It comes in the form of the greatest story ever told, the deepest love known to man and most powerful force in the history of anything.
Cheer up dear ones. Lift your eyes … from whence cometh strength. Pick tomatoes, peel potatoes, chop onions, make applesauce, whatever it is that fills you with peace. Love your spouse, hug your friends, cherish your children, pet your dogs. Walk in blessing. Be mindful of the prosperity we are fortunate enough to know. Stand still and hear the wind blow wild about you.
“And finally, brethren, whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report; if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, think on these things.”