Harvest Season

A full Garden and the tomato snack left behind

This year I planted my first garden in a couple of years—just a few tomato plants, some herbs, and flowers. I planted late, expecting a smaller and slower harvest, but I was only half right. The tomato vines are heavy with fruit, spilling over the garden bed as the green globes pull the vines toward the earth.

Though the little cherry tomatoes have been ripening, I’ve been waiting—somewhat impatiently—for the larger ones to blush red. Finally, one early morning this week, I spotted the first: a ripe, palm-sized beauty hidden in the tangle of vines. Reaching down, I found only half a tomato. A critter had helped themself to the underside, enjoying a feast at just the right height.

For a moment I felt a twinge of disappointment, but then I looked around at the bed overflowing with fruit. Soon there will be more than enough. Holding that half-tomato, I was reminded that not having the first—or the last—of the harvest is a gift in itself.

I thought of the Honourable Harvest that Robin Wall Kimmerer describes in Braiding Sweetgrass:

“Know the ways of the ones who take care of you, so that you may take care of them.

Introduce yourself. Be accountable as the one who comes asking for life.

Ask permission before taking. Abide by the answer.

Never take the first. Never take the last.

Take only what you need.

Take only that which is given.

Never take more than half. Leave some for others.

Harvest in a way that minimizes harm.

Use it respectfully. Never waste what you have taken.

Share.

Give thanks for what you have been given.

Give a gift, in reciprocity for what you have taken.

Sustain the ones who sustain you and the earth will last forever.”

I had to laugh at myself—how a little critter reminded me of what I most needed to remember. 

Who are the “critters” in your life that remind you of humility, patience, or reciprocity?