We’re headed out of town for a weekend on the river. Our friends Haley and Scott, caretakers at Comet Farm, have offered a lush little patch of earth on the banks of the Santa Fe for our family to pitch its three-person tent. Another beloved family of friends will join us, and the program for the weekend is to completely unprogram.
We stop at Wards on our way out of town. I’m picking up cauliflower, butter, shallots, and garlic for Mickelberry’s Mac & Cheese, lemons to squeeze over soaked flour pancakes (prior to dusting them with confectioner’s sugar), sardines and crackers for a paddler’s picnic, Nut Brown Ale, Magic Hat #9, and potato chips. I’m sifting through the rack of chips, looking for the biggest bag with the fewest ingredients at the lowest price, when I find myself in the middle of a conversation.
A young woman has been talking to two young men while they shop. One of the men turns to make a decision about snack bars on the display case behind me. She follows his gaze and declares he should definitely NOT get the “Bible Bar.” She pronounces the product’s name with a tone of total disgust. There is a long and awkward silence.
I turn my head and see the other man’s throat swelling for words, while his eyes blink. He turns his face towards me. “Never know,” I say. “It might be good. That whole ‘Don’t mess with the Maker‘ food movement is supposed to be pretty solid. Nutritionally.”
“Yeah!” he chimes in enthusiastically, as his posture relaxes. “Have you tried the Ezekiel sprouted grain breads?”
“Love ‘em,” I reply. ”The cereals are great, too.” The young men smile and shine.
The young woman transforms into a mildly curious creature who is suddenly pressed for time.
For the most part, I try to stay out of people’s business. I’m a recovering know-it-all, a being capable of retaining facts and radiating conviction. I married into a family that is gentle and humble, very “live and let live.” It’s tempered me. Moments like these, though, where silence and witness seem to beg for my input, I can’t seem to keep my mouth shut. I wasn’t trying to shove a Bible Bar down anyone’s throat – I know nothing of the company’s integrity, and anyway I prefer to make my own bars. Point is, we all have opinions about different religions, what we like about them and what we don’t – but tearing one apart in the middle of a grocery store, unprovoked? That’s not cool. If you haven’t got anything nice to say, go home and write a blog . . . Personally, I can’t say enough good things about people who nourish their bodies. Yee-haw! Because the Bible tells them to, because they’ve analyzed their genetic heritage for enzyme efficiency and calculated their diet accordingly, because they feel a rapturous pulse of ecstasy when they get their hands on something fresh, it doesn’t matter. Healthy bodies are good for the planet. And what’s good for the planet is good for me.
Several years before this interaction, I drove down to my parent’s house, where my sister was visiting with her three kids. I stopped along the way and let my son – then four – eat his first donut. He didn’t like it. (Go figure). I mentioned this milestone at the breakfast table later in the week and my 5-year-old nephew stared at my son cross-eyed and blurted out, “Haven’t you ever been to church?!”
I bit my lip. My sister shook her head. Our mom laughed uncontrollably.
Donuts after church. I lived for them as a kid. I’d agree to believe anything anyone said for the love of an Old Fashioned with cinnamon and sugar.
It’s a hell of a way to form your belief system.
* * *
Down by the river, the water level is high. We are full to the gills with fresh greens from the garden. We take turns on the rope swing, plunging into icy cold water, resurfacing with warm smiles. We sing out with our gratitude for the majesty of Spring. It is Easter morning and we are baptized in bliss.
