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wild blackberries and the mindfulness of playing a part in your own food

It was also the act of creating a moment for myself. I think of this a lot in regards to food and drink. Making pastry, crushing and peeling garlic, taking time to brew a proper coffee and baking are easily able to be sped up, but not doing so adds value to both the time and the product. 

Playing a part in the creation of something that sustains you and brings you life is something that has been the subject of art for years. Every civilization throughout history has celebrated, found ritual in, or honored food, preparing food, feasting and harvest in some way. 

Walking beneath the Devon sun, headphones in, strawberries in hand to accompany cream I had leftover in the fridge: a good life.

Levels of happy hormones were pretty high and I took a longer route home, on which I stumbled upon bumper crop after bumper crop of wild blackberries.

Picking them (which of course I did), turned on some sort of switch in my brain. There was mindfulness and connectedness in which I found such a sense of peace. I forgot my iPhone in my hand and my Bluetooth headphones playing some sort of podcast. I didn’t even know what Bluetooth was anymore, or wifi. felt like the picture of Kim Kardashian in the milk-maid dress that people caption ‘me when I lower my screen time by 10%’ - but in a genuine way, if still appreciating the irony.

My hunter-gatherer ancestors? My soul remembering a distant farming past? I felt such a sense of grounding in the world and appreciation for it. Searching and tiptoeing for the ripe ones and gently putting them in my container, I understood the countless poems about food, baking, harvest, and seasons. Directly observing the journey of energy from the earth to me made my heart smile.

I really understood the pride and worth in growing your own food, tending to your own livestock, planting, picking, and cultivating. The spirituality that underpinned the lives of our ancestors as they lived off and relied on the land really makes sense. The many ceremonies that completely revolved around the seasons, the sun, and the rain and gods and goddesses of the weather when they didn’t understand its causes.

Perhaps the farmers past and present struggle to find mindfulness and grounded-ness in their work that is physically and mentally demanding as they feed the nation for less and less. But the idea of an allotment, living from garden-grown goods, or even a small vegetable patch, is something I could get behind for myself.