We have new neighbors who moved to Maine “from away” in March. (Truth be told, I, too, am from “away”. In Maine this means “not born in the state”. Although I’ve called Maine home for almost 50 years, I too am “from away”). The neighbors, and we, have been slowly getting acquainted largely through sharing garden aspirations, practices and challenges – perennials, shrubs, trees, invasive plants and deer. What works and what doesn’t? It’s been a kind and gentle way to get to know each other through shared interests and labors.
A couple of weeks ago, our doorbell rang and it was our new neighbor presenting us with a warm-out-of-the-oven loaf of his sourdough bread. In March, on their arrival, I had walked over a Two Fat Cats Maine blueberry pie for them, sustenance for their unpacking and settling in through the late days of winter. Now, they were sharing the fruits of their labor with us. Deliciousness abounds!
As it turns out, their gift coincidentally, and as far as I know unintentionally, marked the annual Celtic ritual of Lammas, otherwise known as“First Harvest”. Celebrated on August 1, Lammas marks the halfway point between the Summer Solstice and Autumnal Equinox. Derived from the Old English term “hlafmasse”, Lammas means “Loaf Mass”, ritualizing the first wheat harvest with a communal celebration of bread baking.
We all have rituals that mark the shift in the seasons, some that we celebrate with much fanfare and purpose, and others that are simple guideposts gently nudging us forward in our tasks. Here on my little patch of earth, I watch the later sunrise, and earlier sunset, measuring the path by noting where on the tree trunks the sun’s rays land first. I love the darkening shadows in the woods, the emerging seeds on the perennial grasses after summer’s bright green shoots, windows opened wide for the fresh breeze on cooler nights, waters warm enough for late-summer swimming. The symphony of crickets. All call me to settle down and savor these last few weeks of the season with some favorites – more swims, picking fruits as they ripen and stacking firewood for the colder months. What do you notice as the season nudges forward in your close-in environment? Please share in the comments if you’d like!
As we make our way toward fall, I am feeling the energy growing to again lead a series of Monday evening mindfulness meditation practices, the first of which will be just after we cross the Autumnal Equinox. Beginning September 23, we’ll meet Monday evenings on Zoom from 7-7:30pm (EST) to settle into meditation practice and finish with a quick hello. Over six weeks, through October 28, we’ll revisit essential mindfulness practices, refresh our skills after summer’s play, and gather our energies for the season ahead. I hope you’ll join in! We’re a friendly, inclusive band of mindfulness meditators. No cost, the harvest is the beauty of everyone’s presence! FMI and how to sign up, HERE. Winter and early Spring seasons are also now scheduled HERE).
In closing, here’s a poem from one of my favorite poets, Wendell Berry. It speaks, to me, of the rewards of balancing work and rest, to trust the process and all the helpings hands, visible and invisible, so that we can arrive fully and enjoy the fruits of our labors together.
Must be lived out from day to day.
Vision held open in the dark
By our ten thousand days of work.
Harvest will fill the barn; for that
The hand must ache, the face must sweat.
And yet no leaf or grain is filled
By work of ours; the field is tilled
And left to grace. That we may reap,
Great work is done while we’re asleep.
When we work well, a Sabbath mood
Rests on our day, and finds it good. –Wendell Berry
All best wishes for your end of season savoring, and hope to see you in September!
✨ 🙏 ✨ Deb
As always, please feel free to share this along with your friends and family members who may be interested in mindfulness practice. And contact me anytime at liveyourpractice@gmail.com.
Deb Cook’s Deep Peace Practice 