Last week I gathered together a masterpiece of wild women, spanning three generations, and led them to my friend's ranch to bless the corn and shame the sunset with a grand fire.
My friend is in her third year of planting this particular variety of corn, and I've never tasted anything sweeter or more tender. After much research, she adjusted her planting style this year and the organic crop looks fabulously healthy. She is a plant whisperer too, my friend. She wanders the rows each day, speaking encouragingly to the growing stalks. They are her pride and joy. She speaks of them as her children.
Some of us walked beside her into the field that night, the others keeping guard by the fire. We gave our blessings and our compliments to the plants, inspiring them to grow strong and healthy. They could not have a better ally than my friend. The crop will be spectacular this year.
We laughed and danced and solved all the worries we had patience enough to, and then stared long into the fire making wishes on the sparks as they floated skyward and burned themselves out. The setting sun couldn't compete with our fete, poor thing.
When the nearly-full moon rose and the younger ones went home to warm baths and cozy beds, some of us lingered a while longer, as wine and good company is wont to have you do.
It does not pass my notice that I have been born terribly fortunate when it comes to making friends. I used to joke that powers that be knew that I would need much help in this lifetime, and so instead of great beauty, riches, or a fantastic mind, I was instead offerred a considerable number of amazing friends. And you know, given a choice, that is the gift I would embrace every lifetime.