Lessons from the Early Girls

In my last course in China, I had the group create a drama with song, dance, poetry based on an old folk tale called The Month Brothers. In this Slavic tale, a poor woman goes into the forest in January to see if she can forage any food for her hungry children. She stumbles into a group of twelve men dancing around a fire and when they ask her why she’s there, she explains her dilemma. They agree they might be able to help her, but first want to know how she feels about each of the seasons. 

The woman praises each season in turn for its particular delights and gifts and these men, who are aptly named the Month Brothers, each representing one month, huddle together and the white-haired January passes his staff down the line. As it approaches June, luscious red strawberries appear in the patch of ground they cleared and the women gathers them to take home to their children. When she arrives, the children call out in amazement, “Strawberries in January? Where did you find them?!!”

 

We can tell this story is old because anyone taking a trip to Trader Joes anywhere in January would be able to buy strawberries. Between freezing them or transporting them from warmer climes, the whole notion of waiting for what’s in season is mostly a moot point. We are in a time and in a land of economic prosperity where everything, food and otherwise, is available anytime. The notion of waiting with anticipation for the first strawberries or peaches or fresh corn or apples is an unknown experience for many folks today. Not only with food, but when looking for anything. Most stores are open all the time, including Sunday (though still not in Europe!) and if they’re closed, why, there’s always online shopping with next day delivery. 

 

But somehow amidst this “everything available all the time” culture, Early Girl tomatoes only appear around September and are off the shelves by the end of October. (At least in San Francisco.) If you’ve never had one, an Early Girl tomato makes all the other tomatoes ashamed to even claim themselves in the same family. Their deep red sweetness and freshness is a wonder to the taste buds. 

 

So buying them the other day, I lamented with the check-out person that they weren’t available all year long. Then we both admitted that their short appearance made them that much more anticipated and savored and delicious. Both in real life and as a metaphor for how the value and appreciation and sacredness of each thing is directly related to its scarcity, to its short ephemeral appearance that we look forward to, enjoy, linger slowly over each explosion of taste on the tongue, take time to relish and cherish and value. How a life of abundance freely available at all times diminishes the precious gift of each thing, makes us numb and callous and taking for granted its special qualities. The way one ice cream cone on a sweltering summer’s day gives more pleasure than ice cream every day. 

 

No big revelation here, but a needed reminder that we all forget. Mortality seems like a bad idea that some God or other had, but it can help us live more fully and attentively knowing our days are numbered. Each thing, each person, each moment is to be wholly loved and cherished knowing that it will someday leave us. A life lived in harmony with the seasonal offerings, where we gleefully look forward to and deeply appreciate the first turn of the leaf, the first snowfall, the first bud on the tree, the first day inviting us to the beach, is a life much richer than “everything the same all the time.”

 

So ends the lesson of the Early Girl Tomatoes. And I believe I’ll reward myself by eating one now while I can.