Usually, I try to have a larger point when I post, but I haven't found it yet for this one: Still, I'm pretty sure it fits in here somewhere.

Saturday was my wife's birthday. I went about my early day, including two-plus hours in the cooperative community garden whose second season is (sadly) drawing to a close.

After a visit to our community's town day, a bunch of friends and family gathered at an apple orchard about 45 minutes away for a picking party. We were out there for about 90 minutes, mostly just hanging out in shifting combinations of loved ones, including several who were certain the best apples were only available at climbing distance.

We had a great time, including Joseph, who did what he does best: See something round and try to throw it. It was satisfying to show him trees that had produced the fruit he likes, and to let him pick his own. Apple was among his first words, and he did take a few bites.

When we got back to the house, before heading out to dinner at Nourish, we had a half-hour of petty confusion as we piled out of cars, situated the baby sitter, and milled around aimlessly. My contribution — somewhat unnecessaily, even borderline OCD-ly — was to harvest the waning production on my bean and tomato plants.

Only later did I realize that that made it three plots of land that I'd helped harvest, surely more than I'd ever done in a single day before. I even drove a distance and paid money for one of the opportunities.

So sure, it was fairly typical suburban day, but it also reflects my attachment to the earth and what it brings forth. What's notable, to me, is that no one who knew me for most of my years would ever have expected this interest to grow in me. Least of all myself.