This is the time of year when so much budding potential has reached the peak of fruitfulness – plums, apples and pears are ready for the table, the oven, the dehydrator and freezer. The cherries had their season weeks ago.
My grandchildren wander the orchard with me, marveling at the bounty that has dropped from its branches, and looking up at what remains to be collected above our heads.
They pick up an apple and take a bite, trying to avoid worm holes and bruises. It seems we always are dodging the daily reality of worms and bruises.
It takes so much to yield bud to blossom to fruit to nourishment and the honeybee is our ticket to preserved winter fruit, making honey in the process. It is a marvelous way that nature is designed to replenish itself and nurture us, year after year.
And to think our fall from the Garden was over one piece of forbidden fruit, especially when there was so much, else available to us.
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The rose is a rose, And was always a rose. But the theory now goes That the apple’s a rose, And the pear is, and so’s The plum, I suppose. The dear only know What will next prove a rose. You, of course, are a rose– But were always a rose. ~Robert Frost, “The Rose Family” from The Poetry of Robert Frost: The Collected Poems
We are more alike than we are different, from every thing to every one, yet we still strive to discriminate and differentiate.
We arose from the same origin:
put together atom to atom, amino acid to amino acid, conceived within the mind of God, formed by His Hands and Breath, designed as treasured artwork whether flower or fruit or fetus.
So we can only know what He has told us in His carefully chosen Words: we are dear, we are His rose, in whatever form or function we appear, however we have been put together~
We will always be His rose.
There is no rose of such virtue As is the Rose that bore Jesu: Alleluia. For in this rose was contained Heaven and earth in a small space. Wondrous thing. Res miranda. By that rose we may well see There is one God in persons three. Equally formed. Pares forma. The angels sang; the shepherds, too: Glory to God in the highest! Let us rejoice. Gaudeamus. Leave we all these worldly cares And follow we this joyful birth. Let us be transformed.Transeamus. ~Benjamin Britten “There is no rose” from “Ceremony of the Carols”
Sometimes it’s not about seeking, but of receiving, the way a plum takes in light, an inner ripening that cracks its perfect purple skin, and sweetness, an amber rivulet, crusts along the gash. ~Lois Parker Edstrom from “The Lesson of Plums”
Our silver plum tree is a lot like some people I know: most of the time barely noticeable, hanging on the periphery of the crowd, fairly reserved and unobtrusive. But their roots go deep and the nourishment is substantial, so they bear fruit, no doing things half-way. The feast is plentiful and abundant, the meal glorious, despite a bitter skin.