One of my favorite things about where I live is the hay fields nearby. And in the last week or so, the hay has been cut, and then formed into rows to dry, and now the baling has begun. One evening as I drove home, the late-day sun was low in the sky, casting an other-worldy light across the field. The long, winding rows of cut hay were a fresh, painterly green, and the first few bales sat scattered across the grass. It was stunning - not only for the colors and the light, but because it could have been the nineteenth century. The quiet simplicity of the hay field transports me to other times: when the neighborhood all around my house was farmland. When the streets were unpaved and no planes flew overhead. When route 495 wasn't a logjam of vehicles.
Not that I want to go back to the 1890's! Our advances in science and medicine, the civil rights and legal protections for folks who are Black, women, children, LGBTQ, immigrants, disabled, workers... We have made great strides in realizing God's kingdom here on earth.
But when I see that hay field... I also think about what we have let slip through our fingers: slowness, open space, connection to the land, living close to where our food and resources are produced. May we all find our own hayfield this summer.
