Bountiful Ohio

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     Tonight after dinner, I took a walk out to the edge of our property to survey the soybeans.  I love soybeans.  I wasn't sure what they looked like in each stage of their growth, so I thought I'd look over the plants on the farmland that butts up against our backyard.


     The second I got out there, I was struck dumb by the absolute beauty of the agriculture here.  I'm from Idaho, and I grew up in the Pacific Northwest, so I know beautiful land when I see it.  This time of year in Ohio, we are treated to some of the best.  The deep green of the plants, the brown of the earth, and the wonderful little sparks of light provided by the lightning bugs all reached up to meet a sunset worthy of a postcard.  And it was in my backyard.  That's pretty cool.


     I often wonder how, when confronted with nature's majesty in the form of a soybean plant, or a baby calf, or the colors that shine in the feathers of a chicken, people can do anything other than treat their foods and their ingredients with respect.  When you watch them grow, when you see them in their natural state, you appreciate the gifts God has given us for our tables.  Science can't reproduce the number of colors in nature; there is no perfume more sweet than the smell of the earth, and the plants reaching up through its surface to meet the sun.  This is our pantry...our larder.  All of it, at our disposal, and only needing to be nurtured to provide us with everything we need, always.


     I returned reluctantly to the house and stopped, again, when I passed through the final line of trees and saw the lights shining from inside.  It, too, while not nature's gift, was beautiful, and I had to stop and think of my blessings.  I've the natural world outside my door, and the warm and welcoming lights of a comfortable home on the other side.  I couldn't ask for anything else.  I wouldn't.  I don't need to.