Aug 24, 20233 min read

Still Savoring Summer {Week 13 CSA}

As fall whispers to us through chilly twilights, we hope the late summer harvests filling your CSA boxes help you relish what's left of this delicious season.

While some can't help but race towards pumpkin lattes and cozy sweaters, we tend to approach fall with mixed feelings out here. Amid a distinct relief in knowing that peak season’s ruthless demands and intense pace are nearing their end, there's also a subtle feeling of loss for all that wanted to be had that just didn't. That list includes everything from the rogue crop of sunchokes we didn't get to plant to the camping trip we didn't squeeze in. It's one of those lists that always finds another item to add when all the rest get crossed off. Like summer's nearly endless daylight, the eagerness to fill our warm outdoor days with all the dreams we had last winter doesn't die easy.

Until it does. Somehow, every year we find ourselves resisting fall until a random and yet predictable moment when we are suddenly eager for it. Like a switch, it all flips. Perhaps you can relate? And perhaps you're already there! But for now, and at least for the next few weeks, summer is still solidly on the menu.

With so much asking for our attention these days, turning it towards simple moments of bright flavors bursting from the last juicy bites of a season seems like the smartest thing to do. Our focus is our most prized resource and overwhelming it with wholesome celebration of the sensational vibrance that is summertime is an audacious act of service—to ourselves, to those around us, and to nature herself. After all, how can we be expected to see the path forward out of this burning mess of human shortsightedness if we’re not tending to the very heart and mind we rely on to perceive? We propose deep care of this vessel so we can then mobilize it for that which calls us—something inherently beautiful, resilient, and inspired.

What better way to reach such optimistic heights than to buoy ourselves with rich nutrition and lofty appreciation of what we have? Loss is plastered in any direction, but the abundance of nature’s late-summer bounty is glowing as bright as the fires surrounding us. Dahlias exploding into fractalized wonders, corn stalks reaching beyond our heads for the heavens, melons yielding their sweet perfume, and ripening squashes that intend to nourish us through the cold season—nature sings loudly in late summer.

The Chilean writer, Pablo Neruda, said it best: “You can cut all the flowers, but you cannot stop spring from coming.” There’s peace in reflecting on the great mystery and majesty we’re just a teeny tiny part of. Even amid our fumbling, unfathomable order exists in and around it. Perhaps we can turn off our phones and tablets and televisions for as long as we’re able and simply savor each exquisite bite of what’s before us. Perhaps then we can touch the current of beauty pulsing through it all.