A worm or some other bug took a few bites out of these apples. Question for the day: Do I hide or celebrate these 'ugly fruit'? I'm increasingly done with perfection of any kind, so here's what emerged. I say, "welcome sweet creatures. There's plenty to go around." It made me think: Who really said that a bite of an apple leads to banishment? What an absurd story. Apples provide essential nourishment for the body, mind, heart & soul. And our particular tree, a gift from my in-laws in 2014, bends but does not break with time. What does it take to be so flexible? What does it understand & what can it teach me? While I 'compost' the issues -- race, political discord, economic disparity and, yes, that nagging issue, Climate Change, it feeds on living mulches, provides perches for birds & in spring is a beautiful focal point in the garden. It seems ironic that this year, with drought and psychic tension in the universe, it is more abundant than ever before. This portrait reveals a collection of apples from a much older tree that predates us by a few decades (on the left), and a few of our yummy Honeycrisp in a bowl made by my husband thirty years ago (right). I love how the soft light plays on these discarded cores and peels, their transformation from apple to delicious desserts & beautiful compost a lesson in mindfulness. While turning the apples into desserts, I remembered when our apple tree first produced five years ago. My sister and I harvested the entire crop of eight precious fruit to bring on a cross country road trip from New Hampshire to Idaho. We rationed those home grown Honeyscrip, allowing ourselves one a day -- each bite, a precious gift. We experienced joy and a powerful sense of abundance even though there was scarcity -- Only one apple a day. As we drove across North Dakota & into Montana, we ate the final apples, savoring their crispy juiciness. This year, there's drought. The leaves are sickly. My gratitude is intense, but subdued. Will this more fragile tree break from the weight of it all? Did I care enough? My relationship with this tree is ancient, and I know it's too late for regrets. Between wheelbarrows full of mulch I stop and eat an apple. "Don't worry," it seems to say. "I am strong and so are you."
2 Comments
Margaret Jernstedt
10/7/2020 10:44:19 am
Lyn - your reflections are beautiful. Thank you! M
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Lyn
10/8/2020 12:28:10 pm
Thank you, Margaret! It's nice to know someone is actually reading these posts!!
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Lyn Swett Miller
reframing the narrative, one day, one image at a time Let's ReFrame: By Degrees
A place where photographer Lyn Swett Miller considers wonder, joy and transformation in a complex world. Archive
September 2021
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