The land of the maple knows that when the red leaves drop, it’s time to stop and be thankful. Last year I enjoyed the practice of making a Thanksgiving list, so for 2020 I’m going to do so again.
Last year, I only got one apple off my tree. Just one. It’s not that the tree grew a single apple, it’s just that I was too slow to pick the rest of the crop. A greedy bear visited our gardens during the night, and helped himself to the rest. This year, however, I am thankful to have a rich harvest all to myself. I almost have too many apples, but there’s no such thing. They’ve made wonderful breakfasts and snacks. I’ve even been experimenting with some new recipes (but apples are always best fresh)!
“No matter how cold and wet you are, you’ll always be warm and dry in wool.” My great-grandmother was fond of praising the qualities of wool. This love of woolens has passed onto my father, who passed it on to me. I was glad to see my old friends, the wool wraps and sweaters, out of the closet a few weeks ago when the rains began. Immediately after I brought out the cool-weather clothing, the summer temperatures returned. Never mind—I still want to wear my wool.
My Mint Garden
Mint has a tendency to spread like Alexander the Great’s empire. Most people say this sort of thing in warning—but I’m delighted by mint’s tenacious determination to grow. One pot of mint became several pots of mint, providing a supply for my tea pot. I have a little cluster of third generation mint sitting on my desk, and it’s wonderful to watch the sunlight filter through those delectable little leaves. There is no danger, really, of mint overrunning my herb garden. I use it up quickly enough to keep it under control.
I’m not a true theologian, nor am I a seminarian. But even so, I’m amazed at how accessible—and fascinating—theology has proved to be. It is far from being the dry, dead chore I once thought it was. Instead, theology leads to doxology as one learns more about the glorious, infinite, triune God. I’m grateful that I don’t have to be a genius or a prophet be amazed over the hypostatic union! I’m also thankful that I was able to connect with one of my new employees over theology, as she introduced me to Got Questions and I introduced her to Christ is the Cure.
One of the highlights of autumn is the annual trip to the garden store, where I pace the display of tulip and daffodil bulbs, trying to decide what to plant for the coming spring. The daffodils tend to grow better than the tulips, but every year I try anyway to grow my tulips. I must have my tulips. It’s not just the bright colours and elegant wine-glass design that draw me to tulips. Even though they don’t always bloom in time for Resurrection Day, the tulip always put me in mind of that special morning. After all, in the language of flowers the tulip means ‘perfect love’. The decision of what type of bulb to buy was easier this year. I brought home two packets; one was a gold-and white combination called ‘good morning’, and the other had flowers of regal purple and pure white, topped with a frill like a crown of thorns.