|A Popov's painting hanging on our wall. Landscapes are spiritual|
The Sacred Act of Eating
We grow by eating our landscape.
Consuming most of will change the landscape
into desert. Sand taste dry, indeed.
Many times we no nothing of the landscape
we eat. Metal shacks with dying red
heifers, conveyer bets of progress’s
procession producing the latest omega 3
tainted tasteless treats. But there is a lot
of us to feed what is to be done?
We will soon be up in the mountains,
hunting red, purple, and even pink little
globes of heaven. In the wild,
among beers, moose, and elk, they
grow in patches. The roots reaching down
to my wife’s family to before the Eugene
Debs, Dale Cargnigy and Teddy Rossevelt.
The large berries are around the next ridge.
That quest for the best berries existed
long before we went hunting. Season
of life, measures in great berry summers.
1983, 2007, and others were great years.
Huckleberries the size of cow knuckles.
Freeze in May in 2011 made for subprime
berries, little and few. Illusions of control
mark the hunting berries. These mountains
have hosted the human hunters of berries
since the time of Jesus, most likely
longer. Here is the wonder.
To taste a freshly pluck berry
makes the the landscape come
alive in my body and I give thanks.