My morning glories are running amok through the garden, trellis-free in many places, wrapping and swirling themselves around whatever they can find--heavy red elephant-head amaranth, towering sprays of Hungarian broom corn, and nutty brown pearly bursts of sorghum. The effect is mesmerizing and beautiful--and the flowers haven't even started yet!
Last night, I stood at my kitchen window and gazed upon this symbiosis in the quiet of after-dinner when the sun had set and the day had started to loosen its grip, that time of day with no edges. And I thought of my friends. Family. Neighbors. Colleagues. Teachers. Strangers. And I thought of how sometimes I am that sorghum, standing tall and strong, reaching for the sky, supporting the delicate morning glory vines. And other times, I am the morning glories, sharing my light but relying on the strength of those in my life. Or standing on the shoulders of others, like Anita Roddick, like Alice Waters, like Margaret Mead who said to never underestimate the power of a small group of committed people to change the world. In fact, it is the only thing that ever has.
Today is Farmers Market Day as well as CSA pick-up day and I think of how hard it has been this summer for the farmers. The worst summer in years. If I don't go early to the farmers market, there's no produce. But Rock Star Chad doesn't show up with his milk and eggs until 10:30, so if I want his eggs (and I have become completely reliant on them), then I miss the produce.
I need what the farmers--Chad, Corinna, Tommy, Melissa, Bill and others--have. They need the customers to be there and buy from them. Even now, when yields are low. Especially now, when yields are low. Because one thing I know for sure--we take turns being the sorghum and the morning glories.