Falling into Zen

When I was about 5 I came into the house after playing in our backyard, my mom asked if I had been eating raspberries. I responded with an adamant 'no,' my mom pressed on, saying it was ok if I had been. I continued to deny any association with our raspberry patch, not knowing that my face was entirely covered with evidence of my recent raspberry excursion. I knew at a young age that raspberries were sacred, that they were coveted and worthy of being secretive about. Unfortunately, my lack of stealth in indulgence meant that my mom would forever know what I looked like when I was flat out lying.

On Sunday morning I pulled out of my driveway and headed to Sutter's Ridge to pick raspberries.  I laughed as I changed the radio from Garrison Keillor to The BackSpin with Spindarella.  It can't be too often that the old timey Garrison is juxtaposed with The Humpty Dance. 

As I drove to one of my favorite destinations in the world, I began to observe the anxiety inducing signs of the end of summer.  I absolutely love autumn, but I do not do well with the transition from summer to fall.  Some of it is directly related to my depression, and some of it is preferring hot weather over cold. With the onset of fall each year I start to get nervous, it's like the impending doom of winter is right around the corner and I have to muster up the strength to get through another soul zapping winter. 

Pushing these emotions aside and choosing to focus on the moment, I admired the beautiful waves of grasses blowing on the side of the road, navigated around the road bikers, and quickly arrived at my destination.  The farm provides me with a beautiful zen experience each season.  Standing in the sun, picking and eating beautiful raspberries, inhaling sweet raspberry air, listening to the constant drone of busy bees and feeling the gentle mosquito inhibiting breeze on my skin.  Not sure it gets much better.