It is ironic that we can have difficulty giving thanks as we prepare for Thanksgiving. “Who has time?” you might be thinking as you bend beneath the considerable weight of family needs, expectations and your own desire to get it right. 

The challenge is particularly acute during this season of weariness. Many of us are worn out by the divisiveness of the election.  You may be disenchanted, angry, lacking in hope.

It is times like this that we need to practice gratitude. (Yes, it takes practice.) Gratitude is about being thankful while acknowledging life as it is – chaotic, painful and beautiful all at the same time. I can typically think of something for which I am grateful.  A note from a friend. Bird song. The satisfaction of that first cup of coffee.

At the moment, I am thankful for the fragrance of eucalyptus and damp soil at the local farmstand.

This modest little stand situated amid roadside trees nourishes me in many ways.  It celebrates the abundance of the season, heralding meals over which we’ll have connection and conversation. Standing in line to make my purchase, I take in the colorful arrangement of winter squash and onions, tomatoes, fruit and greens of every sort. I listen to the pleasant chatter of other shoppers as they ask questions and offer suggestions, sharing plans for their own meals.  I no longer feel rushed. In fact, I find myself lingering after I have paid for my purchases to examine some olive oil and the bouquets of flowers.

Open 3 days a week for a few hours each day, the stand offers up what is grown on farmland just yards away.  A seasonal array of apples and pears come from surrounding farms.  There are loaves of freshly baked bread. Sour dough and walnut wheat and hand-milled grain. Pumpkins are on display, of course, as are luscious bunches of dahlias and sunflowers.

Like a farmer’s market, it is a feast for the senses.  But this little stand is a much humbler version of the marketplace. Its simplicity is what appeals to me most. It reminds me of something one might encounter as a storybook resident.

The carrots are my favorite, sweet and crunchy. So, I usually wipe off the grit to sample one or two in the car on my way home. Bags of mixed greens put supermarket pretenders to shame. Oh, and did I mention the huge ripe avocados? They are almost a meal in themselves.

I will be sad when the inevitable end of the growing season arrives and the market closes for the winter. Some may have visions of sugar plums dancing in their heads over the holidays. I will dream of carrots.

And give thanks.

Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good.
His love endures forever.

Psalm 136