Praise God for the harvest - a wider view

 

Praise God for the harvest of farm and of field

Praise God for the people who gather their yield

The long hours of labour the skills of a team

The patience of science, the power of machine

 

Praise God for the harvest that’s sent from afar

From market and harbour, from tropical shore

Foods packaged and transported and planted and grown

By God given neighbours, unseen and unknown.

 

Praise God for the harvest that comes from the ground

By drill or by mineshaft, by opencast mound;

For oil and for iron, for copper and coal

Praise God who in love has provided them all.

 

Praise God for the harvest of science and skill;

The urge to discover, create and fulfil;

For all new inventions that promise to gain

A future more hopeful, a world more humane.

 (Brian Wren)

(Tune: Away in a manger)

E is for evenings

There is something rather lovely about an autumn evening.

People are beginning to remark that the nights are drawing in.  Summer evenings feel endless which is just as well as the demands of the garden are also endless.  Autumn feels a little more laid-back. 

When autumn evenings are becoming a little chilly it feels good to come indoors, make a hot drink and put my feet up.  Soon I shall find the LED candles which will make things even more cosy

Autumn evenings are slower.  I’m very happy to stay at home.  Some evenings there’s rain and I’m more than happy to stay at home.  I can sew, knit, listen to podcasts or audiobooks.  No pressure.

I hold out as long as possible before switching on the heating, but that first time will bring a feeling of cosiness and comfort.  I no longer have a coal fire but the glow from my pretend fire will bring a sense of well-being. 

So here’s to autumn evenings: warm slippers, glowing lamps, mugs of soup, cosy chairs, good books and absolutely no obligation to be anywhere.

D is for deciduous trees

 I rather like deciduous trees.  They’re fitting in with my life quite well at the moment.  Trees know when their leaves have become clutter and they get rid!  They have no sentimental attachment to their leaves; they don’t think that the foliage might be handy in February.  They do one last, beautiful thing and then get rid of the lot. 

My tree of the year is hanging on to its leaves. 

I find it hard to be so ruthless!

I can’t look at a cupboard and think, “Right, vase, you’ve served your purpose, off you go.”  My stuff isn’t quite so obliging.

Wouldn’t it be lovely if my possessions could create a last, wonderful display like trees do.  Would that make everything easier?  A sort of retirement party before they go to the charity shop or recycling?

As I sort each shelf or room it looks bare.  Trees don’t worry about that.  They know that the bare branches use less energy.  Rather a comforting thought for someone who struggles with clutter. 

But perhaps there is wisdom in a deciduous tree.  Sometimes it is perfectly all right to let things go.

Blogger has a whole new problem for me today: I can neither post comments on other people's blogs nor reply to comments on my blog.  My apologies: I am reading blogs and I appreciate the comments left on my blog.  

C is for cycling

 

Yes, I know cycling isn't really an autumn word but it's a topical word here in Lincolnshire as the first couple of stages of the Tour of Britain are in this county and yesterday the race came through Caistor.

For various complicated reasons I couldn't watch in Caistor but I went to the nearby village of Waddingham and sat (on my trundle truck) on the village green to watch.  We (my cousin R and I) were there about half an hour early as a lot of roads were closed.  We could neither of us believe how many police motorcycles came through.  Everything was very light hearted and fun: however one highlight was a white van whose driver had ignored the road closure signs and driven through the village.  A motorcycle cop stopped hm and an argument developed between White Van Man and the bobby.  White Van Man wanted to go through and make a delivery but Motorcycle Cop was having none of it and, despite being very irate, White Van Man had no choice and had to get off the road.  Maybe the sniggers of the crowd weren't to his liking either but the cool courtesy of the cop was commendable.  (Got a few "C" words in there - did you notice?)

But R and I were not there to witness to how wonderful our policemen are: we'd come to see the race.  It's slightly "blink and you miss them" as they whizz past.  Less than a minute between the first and last of 108 riders.  They'd already been up and down a lot of hills on the Lincolnshire Wolds and they were heading back to Lincoln.  There they rode up Steep Hill which is just what it says, and it is cobbled.  

I was glad to make my way back to the car and then on to a local hostelry where R treated me to lunch.

A pretty good day out.

B is for Butternut

Butternut squash sounds like a vegetable that has put on a woolly cardigan, made itself a cuppa and settled down for the afternoon.

Jack  treated me to a plant earlier this year.  We both watched it with avidity.  It has produced but a single fruit.  That single fruit has been cossetted and is a pretty good specimen.  Jack put various things under it to protect it from the slugs and any other nasties which might be lurking and I have watered it. 

And then for its final destination.   I think I will roast some to go with meat but then I shall make soup so Jack can have some to take home.  Such wonderful bounty must be shared!

Butternut squash has a very cheerful colour (mine isn't ripe yet). That beautiful golden orange seems to say, “Yes, summer has gone, but we shall have soup.”  

A joy to be savoured in my hibernaculum.   

 

A is for Autumn

I rather like autumn.  I don’t enjoy getting wet feet, I don’t like seeing the end of summer colour, and I don’t look forward to the heating bills.  What I do enjoy is a season when being at home is a choice which I can make entirely guilt free.

In the summer I feel as if I ought to be doing something or going somewhere, in the winter I try and do a project.  And in the spring, I plan.  But autumn gives me permission to do absolutely nothing.  And I am very good at doing nothing.  When someone asks, "What are you doing today?" I can now answer, "watching the rain."

I rather like changing to my slobby autumn and winter clothes.  Sweatshirts which can be washed and don’t need ironing.  Thick comfortable tights.  Warm, lined skirts.  My warmer clothes will be delighted to be reunited with me.

Soon Jack will come and sort the garden to be left for the winter.  We’ll have the last of the tomatoes and beans and the one, single butternut squash. 

I’ve started to fill my freezer with lovely soups which will also be used to persuade Jack to come.  Porridge is back in business. Apples need using.

And evenings are glorious.  Curtains closed. A heated throw to snuggle up in.

And absolutely nowhere I need to be.   In fact, I can have a perfectly wonderful day without getting dressed properly. 

(I'm doing my usual "thing" to get back to regular blogging - an alphabet of post.  This series will all be about autumn.)

Exit August

 

Phew, what a scorcher!  Our hottest day here was 13th August at 35C, well short of the 40C I recorded on 19th July 2022 but the heat has been much more prolonged this year.  Most of the cereal harvest was harvested in July, weeks ahead of the usual time.  And it has been much too hot to sit in the garden except in the evenings.  

But I have managed to do a few things.  I had planned days out at nature reserves and National Trust properties but couldn't risk the heat.  The best thing has been restarting swimming - we had to stop when oil prices meant the pool couldn't be heated and somehow we hadn't restarted but we have now - I've swum four times during August.

I've bought a new Trundle Truck.  This is a folding jobby which I will be able to take on some public transport, including trains.  I'm keeping the old one too as that is more robust and better suited to nipping around Caistor.

I've met with friends for coffee or lunch on eight occasions.  I'm definitely a lady wot lunches!

I went to a barbecue to celebrate the marriage of D & S.  I babysat D's brothers the night he was born over thirty eight years ago.  He was very ill and needed urgent surgery as soon as he was born so this was an occasion of real joy.

And I am again in demand to lead worship each Sunday.  It's the third time I have covered when this particular group has been without a regular vicar and I really queried if they wouldn't prefer a different priest rather than an old crock like me.  They are lovely: someone comes to help me carry my gear from the car and they put several chairs in strategic places so I can sit down when I want to.  In several churches they put a table so that I don't need to go up and down steps to the usual altar.  Preaching still brings me deep joy and I thank God for the care, appreciation and generosity of these lovely congregations.

Psalm for a home

May your doorbell ring as a welcome,

your home keep a couch for the weary,

and your table be open space

 for those out of place.

 

 May the kettle on in the kitchen be just boiled,

your living room rock with laughter,

and your phone be sometimes out of reach.

 

May your clothes be handed on,

your plants remind you to water them,

and the compost bin become your daily sermon.

 

May your car give people lifts

(may your neighbours names be known)

And your carbon footprint be gentle

whatever the road that rises to meet you

 

May you cherish each quiet space

and the paths you take into each day.

May goodness and mercy follow you

down each and every way.

 

(By Martin Wroe)

 

I found this in “Rooted in Love” by Diana E Carroll