Sugar on Snow

Due to COVID, there's no Winter Carnival this year. No ski jumping contest in town. But more importantly, no Sugar on Snow.

In New England, Sugar on Snow means packing a bowl with snow and pouring boiling maple syrup on top. The syrup hardens and forms taffy. Chewy and sweet.

As so often during this past year, i decided to DIY--make my own.

Boil the maple syrup to 235 degree (soft ball stage on a candy thermometer).

Pack a bowl with snow. Last night's snow was light and fluffy. This morning's snow is heavy and wet. Heavy is good.

Pour the hot syrup over the snow.

Spiritual practice is another DIY thing. No one else can do it for you. You already know the recipe.

Meditate or pray. 20" a day is a good start. Use a timer.

Read a spiritual book.

Meet with your spiritual friends at least once a week and meditate together.

The heart softens, and practicing kindness becomes easier and easier.

Potato Harvest

 

Today i dug up 5 gallons of potatoes. I wonder how many pounds that is? One thing i know: It's heavy.

Now for the cleaning and sorting. After washing, i want them to dry out and for their skins to "heal." I know from past experience that sending them straight to the 55-degree basement will cause them to mold. So the potatoes need to dry out for a few days, yet not be exposed to the sun lest they get sunburn--their skins turn green. 

So i put each batch in a flat, cover it with a dish towel, and store it under the dining room table for a few days. We are not expecting company for dinner any time soon, so no one will know.

Digging potatoes is like searching for buried treasure. The Buddha's teachings are a treasure that will feed us for the rest of our lives.

Meanwhile, i have enough potatoes to last me several months.

Too Hot to Garden

With temperatures in the 90s this week, I go out to the garden as soon as i've finished my hour-long meditation from 6 to 7 a.m. I can garden for about an hour before the sun rises over the trees, and then, it's suddenly too hot to garden.

I look for shade and pull a few weeds, but i've lost my oomph.

At the end of life, the body loses its oomph, and it's too late to....  Too late to say that important something to that beloved person. Too late to do that special, unique thing you do. The body goes all out of whack--too hot, too cold, too heavy, too loose. Too late.

What's that one special thing that silently calls your name? Listen. Listen to the stillness.