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By Lisa Steele-Maley,
On many Sunday mornings, I attend a Quaker meeting. Gathering in the bright, sunny meeting room for an hour of silent worship is incredibly nourishing. In that space and time, stillness settles in and I feel myself one with All That Is. No words necessary. Even if I leave after the rise of meeting without speaking a word to anyone, I always leave feeling deeply grounded, present to my life as it is unfolding, and thoroughly connected to the community. Some days this sense of presence and connection grows into a sense of urgency to respond to the needs of the world. Other days, it blossoms into a sense of being warmly held, not just by the immediate community but by the entire web of life. Always, it feeds my spirit.
This morning, as soon as I wake up, I know I will not go to meeting. The sun is shining, a breeze is blowing, and I know the blueberries on the hill are ripe and ready to be picked. With a steaming cup of coffee in one hand and an empty bowl in the other, I walk into the morning sun to harvest the sweet fruits. As my bowl slowly fills, my mind quiets and my heart is at peace. I am at meeting after all. Only here, instead of gathering with human family, I am in communal worship with the breeze, the sun, the fruits at my feet, the bugs buzzing in my ears, the muscles in my back and legs, the deer and turkeys who grazed here earlier this morning, the birds singing from the nearby branches, the ancestors who brought me here, and all the humans over time who have gathered their breakfast in warm summer sun.
I go inside just long enough to make blueberry pancakes and then bring them outside to eat. As flavors of blueberry, maple, and pancake melt in my mouth, I am overwhelmed by a sense of gratitude. What an amazing gift it is to be alive to relish this sweetness on my tongue, the sun on my face, and the chorus of birds. Right next to all of the burdens and responsibilities of this time and place, amid all of its challenges and uncertainties and the work to be done, there is this: beauty and abundance, peace and presence, community and connection—all ready for harvest in my backyard and in my heart.
Today we celebrate Lammas, the festival of the harvest in Celtic tradition. At the midpoint between the summer solstice and the fall equinox, the harvest is in full swing. Life and death stand side by side: fruits are ripening as stalks are dying. We are called to notice and honor the value of both creation and destruction, disintegration and integration. Holding the paradox can be uncomfortable. It requires stretching, strength, and trust in our own capacity. It requires practice, and it requires taking breaks for solace in whatever ways I can. Sometimes the solace finds me. This morning, peace was waiting on Blueberry Hill. Where will it find me next?
—Adapted from Arriving Here: Reflections from the Hearth and Trailby Lisa Steele-Maley.
In her actions and her words, Lisa Steele-Maley weaves together her roles as mother, daughter, wife, writer, and educator. Ordained by the Chaplaincy Institute of Maine (ChIME) in 2019, Lisa nurtures the fierce and tender connections between self, spirit, land, and community. Her writing reflects a strong connection to the affirming rhythms of the natural world and keen attention to the details of daily living and relationships.
Lisa lives in an aging farmhouse on the coast of Maine with her husband, two teenage sons, and a handful of animals. Her newest book, Arriving Here: Reflections from the Heart and Trail, was published in December 2020. Learn more at lisa.steelemaley.io.
Blueberry photos by Lisa Steele-Maley
