By Michelle Lisenbee
One of my favorite authors is Christine Valters-Paintner. In her book, The Wisdom of the Body, she writes:
“The root of the word savor comes from the Latin word saporem which means ‘to taste’ and is also the root of sapient which is the word for wisdom. Another definition is ‘to give oneself over to the enjoyment of something.’ When I give myself over to the experience of savoring, wisdom emerges.”
I am not a practitioner of Chinese Medicine, but I love that in that tradition, Late Summer is seen as a separate, fifth season. A transition time between the expansive growth of spring and summer and the inward turning energy of fall and winter. A season for cultivating stability, nurturance, caregiving, and bounty. A season when we return to our center and make time for simplicity and quiet reflection. A season which lends itself particularly well to savoring. As Christine Valters-Paintner continues:
“Savoring calls me to slowness (I can’t savor quickly), and to spaciousness (I can’t savor everything at once), and to mindfulness (I can’t savor without being fully present).”
Here in the Mid-Atlantic, our summers tend to be hot and humid. One July morning, I opened the door to feel blessed coolness rather than the expected suffocating heat. I knew it would return, but this particular morning was glorious. The sun was shining, the sky was amazingly blue, and a light breeze ruffled the leaves of the trees ringing our back yard. I stepped barefoot off the porch and into the dewy grass, savoring the cool feel of it on my feet as I crossed the yard to our chicken coop. I heard our small flock of hens softly clucking to each other inside. I opened their door and they hopped down, looking at me hopefully for treats. Once they realized I had none, they went about their business, pecking and scratching. I checked the nesting boxes for eggs and found one perfect brown oval resting on the sweet-smelling pine shavings. It felt perfect in my palm; round, smooth and warm.
I held it gently, continuing to wander through the lush greenness of our small corner of the world, when my attention was captured by a blaze of yellow coreopsis bursting from our woodpile. I did not plant these flowers and had no idea how they ended up there. The juxtaposition of the messy, overgrown woodpile and the bright happy blossoms lit my heart. In that moment, I was filled with overwhelming gratitude for all of it: the gorgeous weather, the early morning egg, the blooming woodpile. I stood quietly, surrounded by God’s creation and felt myself a part of it. Just as each blade of grass and each perfect egg was a unique creation, made only once, so was I. This, I thought, was truth.
Caring for chickens has become, for me, an exercise in savoring. Being outside at the opening and closing of each day keeps me connected to what is real — the weather, the position of the sun, the phase of the moon. Every dawn reminds me that we have the chance to begin again. Every dusk reminds me to give thanks for the blessings of the day. And observing the seasons unfold and flow one into the next reminds me to find my own center. To pause, if even for just a moment, to be fully present to what IS. Praying we all find centering moments in our day – with or without chickens. Blessings.
Looking for more from Michelle Lisenbee? Check out her upcoming Retreat “Savoring Summer” using the link below:
https://bonsecoursrcc.org/event/savoring-summer-a-self-care-day-for-women/