Yes! I love how the power of tradition and stewardship came through without having to trace the themes directly. Thank you for this shared space to enjoy beauty and community together. So grateful for your voice and leadership, Kassi.
I can imagine walking the spaces between the trees. I can smell the clover and alfalfa. It's good to know the deeper story behind the food we eat. How beautiful that this was part of your childhood and now it stands in poem form.
Thank you, friend. I love that the clover and alfalfa linger with you. Their sweet scent mingles with all my summer memories of sunshine. Watching apples begin as flowers and transform hrough the summer into fruit was like magic. I never got tired of it. I bet it is why I still make so much apple crisp! 🥰
What a delightful poem to wake up to!! I certainly did not expect where you began, but it turned out to be the perfect place. ❤️ Thank you for sharing your beautiful heart in this!!
Thank you, Rachel. I was thinking about slow food when I wrote this and the unhurried rhythms of grace that feed us from the inside out. Your comment is such an emcouragement!💚
I love how the “recipe” begins long before the oven — with saplings, shovels, bees, glacier-fed soil. It turns apple crisp into memory, stewardship, and song. The list of apple varieties reads like liturgy, each name carrying wind and clover and childhood. And that line — “Those trees’ lives were in our hands” — quietly holds the weight of care across seasons. It feels like a poem about cultivation as love, about sweetness that comes from years of tending. I’ve been thinking lately about how the things we savor are often decades in the making — roots first, fruit later. If that resonates, I’ve been writing into that theme here: https://theeternalnowmm.substack.com/p/the-surrender?r=71z4jh
Thank you so much for this thoughtful comment! This poem was an absolute joy to write as I remembered the way our apple orchard marked each of the seasons so distinctly. I think about it every time I make apple crisp. 🥰
Abigail, what a lovely poem that is steeped in tradition and stewardship. Thank you for sharing with us today.
It’s a reminder for me to hold onto the good.
Yes! I love how the power of tradition and stewardship came through without having to trace the themes directly. Thank you for this shared space to enjoy beauty and community together. So grateful for your voice and leadership, Kassi.
🙏🏻 thank you
I love how you start with the finished product, but then go back to the very beginning of how it all began.
"To make my mother’s apple crisp,
begin by planting trees like my father did:"
Thank you, Bethany! I love hearing what stands out to you.
Oh, this is rich. Very lovely.
Thank you, Zane!
I can imagine walking the spaces between the trees. I can smell the clover and alfalfa. It's good to know the deeper story behind the food we eat. How beautiful that this was part of your childhood and now it stands in poem form.
Thank you, friend. I love that the clover and alfalfa linger with you. Their sweet scent mingles with all my summer memories of sunshine. Watching apples begin as flowers and transform hrough the summer into fruit was like magic. I never got tired of it. I bet it is why I still make so much apple crisp! 🥰
🙏🏻
What a delightful poem to wake up to!! I certainly did not expect where you began, but it turned out to be the perfect place. ❤️ Thank you for sharing your beautiful heart in this!!
Thank you, Rachel. I was thinking about slow food when I wrote this and the unhurried rhythms of grace that feed us from the inside out. Your comment is such an emcouragement!💚
💯🙏🏻
I love how the “recipe” begins long before the oven — with saplings, shovels, bees, glacier-fed soil. It turns apple crisp into memory, stewardship, and song. The list of apple varieties reads like liturgy, each name carrying wind and clover and childhood. And that line — “Those trees’ lives were in our hands” — quietly holds the weight of care across seasons. It feels like a poem about cultivation as love, about sweetness that comes from years of tending. I’ve been thinking lately about how the things we savor are often decades in the making — roots first, fruit later. If that resonates, I’ve been writing into that theme here: https://theeternalnowmm.substack.com/p/the-surrender?r=71z4jh
Thank you so much for this thoughtful comment! This poem was an absolute joy to write as I remembered the way our apple orchard marked each of the seasons so distinctly. I think about it every time I make apple crisp. 🥰
Thank you for sharing your thoughtful insights!