A Rain-washed Garden and a Thankful Heart

 

Sunday evening of Thanksgiving weekend. We traditionally celebrate together as a family on Sunday, leaving Monday for relaxing. This year, because of the pandemic, we planned an outdoor event with appropriate food. Alas, the rains poured down and we moved the celebration indoors, taking precautions. 

We met everyone at the door with a squirt of hand sanitizer. It struck me how quickly the children have become used to this new reality - they automatically held out their hands and rubbed in the sanitizer. We assigned bathrooms to various families and rather than towels, paper towel was available for drying. 

We stuck with our original outdoor menu. There was crab dip and crusty bread, chips and seven-layer dip, and individual bags of chips for starters. The main course consisted of a wonderful roasted sweet potato, roasted brussels sprouts, and spinach salad, and hot dogs. Grilled, not roasted on sticks over a fire. Served on china plates with linen napkins. It was quite the dinner, unlike any Thanksgiving I can remember. For dessert there were pumpkin pie tarts with dollops of whipped cream, and individual jars of cranberry cheesecake. A strange menu for strange times.

I snapped photos of each family group, and then a few impromptu ones. All of the grandchildren are delightful, but Iris is the star of the show, beloved by all. Here she is being read to by her mother. 

At school we are encouraged to have the windows of classrooms open for good air flow (and to wear sweaters). I recently came across the German practice of Luften where windows are opened, even in winter, to air out the house. So midway through our get together I opened doors and windows and let the rain-washed air blow through the house for about 15 minutes. How fresh and lovely it was. 

Later, after everyone had gone home and the house was quiet, I looked out the window. All the rain intensified the green shades in the garden and the quickly ebbing light seemed to call me outdoors. I pulled on some shoes, grabbed my camera and took a few shots of lingering roses, zinnias, and hydrangeas. 

Once indoors again I lit a candle and watched the light slowly fade outside, dulling those brilliant greens. The blurriness of the photo indicates the lack of light. I was reluctant to turn on an indoor light, preferring to stand and watch until darkness fell. It didn't take long.

I have no plans for tomorrow and that's a delightful feeling. Perhaps a walk, perhaps some stitching and reading. A little cooking? We'll see. There's nothing like the blissful satisfaction of a Sunday evening with a Monday holiday.

I'll close with a prayer that my daughter found in her Simply in Season cookbook - it's most appropriate for Thanksgiving.

Delicious Creator God,

I taste your glory in the tangy crunch of a crisp apple,

I taste your glory in salty tears of emotion.

I taste your glory in cool, clear, life-giving water.

I taste your glory in the heavy sweetness of dark chocolate.

Your glory flavors the early peas and new lettuce of spring,

the raspberries and sour cherries of my backyard,

the mealy goodness of new potatoes and butternut squash,

it steeps in my tea and bakes in my peach cobbler. 

For the nibbles and feasts of your glory and for my taste buds,

I give you thanks.