Garden Party, guardians and gleanings

My Ma loved parties.  Some of my earliest memories of being with her at luau (Hawaiian parties with all the traditional food ... kalua pig, lomi lomi salmon, quid luau ...) always included Ma picking up any extra portions of coconut cake, kalua pig wrapped in napkins and tucked into her purse.  Always a generous sized purse.  I miss Ma, and yesterday it was her memory and her spirit that filled me with verve.  It was garden party day the Field-to-Table Harvest Feast at South Wihidbey Tilth.  I was so looking forward to it.  What's to worry?  Well, it's an old, old habit -- worry, and with the slow yet steady progress of healing from chemical injury, the worry warts grow unless intervention takes place.  The divine intervention of Ma's party lovin' spirit was the intervention I needed.  I'd been cautioned about the wood smoke blowing at the Feast preparations yesterday.  Prescott had called and said, "The smoke's pretty brisk and it's blowing right into the restrooms."  Pete and I clean those restrooms with our Freed-up fragrance-free routine. The obvious choice was to not come early to do the cleaning and our friend offered this, "Here's what you do.  Have Pete drive all the way back to where the forest begins.  Hold your nose to get past the smoke.  Park there!"  Okay, that sounded like a solution.  I could still make that  party.  Ma showed up before we left, her beaming party-loving face calming and reassuring. 

We arrived after most of the set-up and preparations were done, found space just where Prescott had suggested.  The smoke from the fire pit was indeed rising and blowing.  But, the grounds of South Whidbey Tilth are large enough for me to avoid the bulk of the smoke.  The tall bamboo poles with long billowing flags served as wind-and-smoke indicators making my avoidance plan easier.  One picnic table at the top of the gardens was empty and perfect for us.  I laid out our basket with plates and dinnerware, and sat myself down to watch.

The talented fairy spirit Talia Marcus was the event's entertainment.  She wandered the party with her bow and violin, a minstral playing sounds for the tiny tot who will dance and play music of her own before long; music to celebrate the crew of folk tending the lamb turning on the spit for our dinner; music for dinner; music for enjoyment.  My Ma, and Pete and I relaxed and enjoyed the festivities.  People we see every Sunday for the Farmers' Market were there and many others who are unfamiliar to me but part of the Tilth were there.  Honoring the long-time farmers was part of the purpose for this annual thank you to the community.  Speeches (short and well-directed) identified and commended each of these food providers.  Crowns of honor were bestowed:  a garland of tomato vines, another of garlic, a third made from garden gloves, a fourth a ring of wine bottle corks and the fifth, oh forgive me Molly Petersons, my memory fades.  I remember the speech on your behalf ... a thank-you for being an example of great work done as "life after social work."  Ah ... now it comes--your crown was made from seed packets.  A lively and successful raffle engaged us all after our bellies were well-filled with harvest and drink.  Winners we were, as Pete's name was called for two of the prizes making it doubly fun.

We may all be in the process of healing from any number of human ailment and many of the ailments could have been prevented, if .... If only we were perfect, omnipocent (all-seeing).  But, we are not.  I continue to be less reactive to chemicals and triggers and love having time and place to enjoy a garden party.  We had to wash and shampoo the remnants of wood smoke from ourselves after the celebration.  Fortunately I have recovered enough well-being to manage that.  The lamb, the salmon, the tables filled with food and desserts were truly a harvest feast.  To be part of it all, that was a harvest.