Engaging Your Senses This Summer…
“To participate in life, we must experience life through our five senses. We must see the world, hear its subtle messages, smell its flavors, taste its sweetness and touch its surface.” ― D. Wayne Dworsky
Thinking about “The Joy of Growing Plants that Feed You,” tomorrow’s Summer Interlude session, has me contemplating the sensory experience of exploring the gardens of summertime.
Even with the heat here in Austin, the early morning or evening hours offer a chance to engage all the senses.
The sense of taste might have to wait (or not) depending on what’s growing in your garden. Yet you can always stroll through with a delicious cup of coffee or iced beverage, as you savor the the vibrant colors, the sounds of birds calling or water flowing, and the scent of flowers, rich soil or lush grass.
How can you engage all five of your physical senses (and maybe your sixth sense) to immerse yourself in all that the summer has to offer? Perhaps growing plants isn’t for you, but you might be able to plan a farm-to-table dinner designed to honor summer’s abundance and fully taste, touch, smell, see, and hear your way through the meal.
May you let your senses help you fully participate in and enjoy all summer has to offer.
“Taste and smell are often the beggars among our five senses – they leave no written language and therefore no standards other than wholly personal ones. Tasting a superlative Moselle wine can be an aesthetic experience no less genuine than hearing a Mozart piano concerto or seeing for the first time an original Breughel painting.” ―Frank Schoonmake
“People think that their world will get smaller as they get older. My experience is just the opposite. Your senses become more acute. You start to blossom. ” —Yoko Ono
Tomato Intuition
God made me this way, and I don’t dispute it. Amen.
—Flannery O’Connor, “A Temple of the Holy Ghost”
The cherry tomatoes sprawl and bury every other plant. God, they’re tireless. The peppers, chard, eggplants, beets made
into involuntary supports, smothered. New hairy stems daze me each day like Jack’s magic stalk. So dizzying, their reach. This
garden, planned in neat rows, now a fecund tangle. The way I’ve been taught to tie-back or prune branches is useless. And I
finally surrender the need for control. The vines don’t hold back. Flower and fruit overflow. Who could dispute
these sweet and acid gifts to the tongue? Such a luscious mess. It is time to give thanks for the persistent, the genuine, amen.
