Jilly D.

The snow is gently falling…

In Time and seasons on December 2, 2010 at 3:04 am

Rosehips under freshly fallen snow

Midday the pouring rain changed to snow as the temperature dropped. Big, heavy, wet snowflakes fell from the heavens above. Quickly the ground went white and a stillness fell around me. I spent the rest of the day packaging up seeds and putting labels on the packets. Last summer I planted the seeds I had saved from the year before; the year Sam died. And now I have seeds from those seeds. And so goes the circle of life and death, summer and winter. The snow is a blanket to cover the soil while it sleeps and rejuvenates. The frost seeps into the ground and then the churning and heaving begins below; rocks are pushed up, nutrients absorbed, and minerals deposited. The work has gone underground for the season. When spring arrives I will plant seeds again. And again I shall harvest. And in between enjoy the sight, smell and taste of culinary herbs and heirloom flowers that were a part of my life with Sam down On Warren Pond Farm. And wherever I roam I find the wild rose, Rosa rugosa, and in winter its hips make for a soothing tea.  This fall I have spent many hours walking with the dogs back at the farm and cutting bunches of rosehips. Shoving my arm into a thicket of backward thorns and getting prickered and scratched is a form of self-inflicted soul pain. Taking my cutting shears and clipping off the fruited branches is not easy or pleasant except I find it so. My hands get chewed up with scratches, pricks, and blood from the thorns. It is real. Real pain. Real blood. And yet it doesn’t hurt nearly as much on the outside as it does on the inside.


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