Food for the Soul

The pungent sweetness envelopes me like a thick blanket on a hot day. It fills my nostrils like water wrapping around a swimmer on a summer afternoon. The smell clings to my arms, hands, fingers. My nails, stained red from the ruby juices, display the tell-tale signs of my morning's chore. I nearly missed the spring berry picking season, but I made an effort to get out to the fields today, and I was rewarded with 15 pounds of sweet, glorious goodness.
Last summer I picked so many strawberries that I didn't think we could possibly eat them all. I froze berries and made jam and syrup, but what I really wanted to do was make fruit rolls. I didn't have a dehydrator so it was not to be. But for Christmas this year I got a dehydrator, and today I have two batches of strawberry puree drying in the kitchen.
We went camping with our 4H club this week, and on one of my walks a mother was lamenting that they don't have a garden. I told her that last year I decided I would no longer even try to have a summer garden because we are gone so much of the season that it gets away from me and all of my work is for nought. I plan on a spring and fall garden, but if I want fresh in the summer I will go to the local farmers and get what I need. It is a compromise that I have had to make with myself.
When you become so busy that you can't enjoy the produce, then it isn't worth the heartache and backache of trying to raise a garden. Gardening to me isn't all about the food. It is the smell of dirt, rain, manure, plants, and produce. It is the sight of dark and light greens mottled by colorful reds, oranges, purples, and yellows. It is calm in chaos, pleasure in pandemonium. It is rest, peace, order in a life of running, pushing, and planning.
There was a time, even in my lifetime, when gardening meant life or death. Now it means sanity. Here's to the Creator of all that grows; the One that supplies food for the body and the soul.