The Sturdiness and Grace of Necessary Things

 

We have had an abundance of pecans this year. It has been several years since our four trees produced a really good crop, but this is the year. There is a kind of satisfaction in the good work of gathering, cracking, and shelling pecans.

Robert and I were listening to The Membership: A Wendell Berry Podcast the other day. The hosts were discussing the poem "Awake at Night" by Wendell Berry. In the poem Berry recounts some of the thoughts that go through his mind when he is awake at night. This line just grabbed me:

I think of a luxury

in the sturdiness and grace

of necessary things, not in frivolity. That would heal

the earth, and heal men.

It is a luxury for me to know the sturdiness and grace of shelling pecans. Being sheltered here at the farm is helping to free me from frivolity. I don't need new clothes or gadgets or entertainment. These old clothes serve me well. A manual nut cracker is designed to do the job of cracking pecans very well, and it lets me exercise my muscles a little bit. It is more than entertaining to watch this flock of white wing dove feeding on grass seeds and bits of cracked pecans left by the squirrel and the raccoons last night outside my window. 

I can know this luxury of sturdiness and grace found in necessary things, because the garden and the prairie have loosened me from unnecessary things and rooted and grounded me in the seasons and the soil and the weather.

But I also know that I can know this luxury of sturdiness and grace found in necessary things, because my life now is not enshrouded in crisis and chaos. My necessary things are well within reach. I don't live in poverty. I have a safe and sheltering home. My relationships are nurturing and fulfilling. My physical body and mind are still functioning well in spite of the years. My heart breaks for those who have to struggle and fight for necessary things--food, clothing, shelter, healthcare, friendship. I think it would be hard to find the luxury of sturdiness and grace in necessary things if those necessities consumed my every moment and my every ounce of energy. To do so would take a big heart.

 But I understand the luxury of having necessary things is a gift. I also know the luxury of necessary things requires good, sturdy work, and that almost always feels really good.

The Old French etymology of the word luxury includes "sensual pleasure." Perhaps that is what Berry is understanding with his use of "a luxury." Perhaps he finds in the gift of the hard work of doing necessary things a pleasure that involves the whole body, all the senses.

Here are some places in the sturdiness and grace of necessary things in which I can find a luxury.

 Finding the pecans beneath the shade of the huge pecan trees is like an Easter egg hunt.

We have four trees, and all the pecans are different shapes and taste different. It takes a long time to crack and shell pecans. There is lots of time to talk and think. Right now my thumb nails are stained from shelling pecans. Tilly, our Texas Healer, likes to find pecans, crack, and eat them too.

 

Picking peas is a big job, too. I planted half of a small bag of blackeyed peas that I bought at the grocery store, and I've been picking peas for over a month. I've eaten a lot and given a lot away, and I still have a couple of gallons in the freezer. I saw dozens of species of bugs and butterflies on the blooms of the peas while I was picking them. There's a certain feel to the peas when they're just right for shelling. The skin of the shell gets a little loose. I know that feel. Sometimes I pick them when they're not quite ready, but they're always harder to shell. I usually shell the peas sitting in the front porch swing watching the birds at the bird feeder. What frivolity!

 

 

We picked bushels and bushels of tomatoes this summer. When I first planted them, I thought they would all be blown away by the wind, but they survived, and thrived. They were such beautiful colors--bright reds, hot oranges, vibrant yellows, dark cherry. It was hot, hard work harvesting them this summer, but when I looked at the abundance we had to eat and share, I was always glad. I picked the first fall tomato yesterday.

 

Weeds are plants too. When the garden is growing well, the weeds are growing well too. Weeding is hard work, but seeing a nice, clean row with healthy plants is a luxury and a necessity. As it turns out, gardening is good for my body. When I started working in the garden, I was having trouble with my knees. But with all the exercise my condition has improved. The knees don't bother me any more.

 

This was the first year I started seedlings. It was a lot of work tending to them every day, making sure they had the right amount of water, light, and heat And then it was just out of my hands. All the miracle took place in the dark of the soil without my effort. Once I carried them with me in the back of the car on a trip to Waco, setting up the grow lights in a spare bedroom at the dorm. Then I had to transplant them to bigger pots, hardening them off, adjusting them to the outside a little at a time. But the miracle of seeing a whole hedge of basil that I grew from seeds was a luxury.

I think it just takes a little time and little focus to realize that tending to the our daily needs, although it is often a bit of hard work, is a gift to our souls, and that in the sturdiness and grace of necessary things there is a bit of luxury.