A family within a family. Dodging and weaving among piles of freshly harvested, glowing food. Tables draped with cloth, smiles spanning faces....
We sit on hale bales and hear nearly forgotten tales of how to save our own seeds.
Dry food, dry plant...the skin, brittle breaks away in flakes of brown and in your own soft hand rests a firm, round seed.
Gathering them in, gathering them in for the winter months are ahead. Our hearts are called to this relationship with bean and pod.
Messy fingers ring tomatoes clean....
A joyful harvest for next year, yet unseen....
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