This morning my five elder children and I went over to a neighbor’s farm to help them dig up their potatoes.
It was a perfect, Alaskan Autumn day; The air was fresh and crisp. It was dry, though slightly overcast. A soft breeze blew in our faces and tumbled the yellow birch leaves to the ground.
As I sat with my hands sifting through the dirt, fishing for the prettiest, purple potatoes you’ll ever see, I looked up at my kids working in the field.
A spider crawled over my hand and for some reason that brought me such delight in that moment. It was just a perfect moment: My children in the field, the spider in the dirt, the breeze, the hills in the background…
Everything in that moment seemed so beautiful, so magical, that in the passing of a single heartbeat, I could almost see all the events in time that were necessary to make that one perfect moment possible: From the Goldilocks conditions on an insignificant little planet in a vast universe first sparking life, to tunicates siphoning the water of an ancient ocean, to small, warm-blooded mammals huddling in an underground den as the suddenly cooling climate ended the reign of dinosaurs above ground, to an early hunter-gatherer transplanting an edible root near their dwelling in the Peruvian hills, to the bee that pollinated this potato plant over the summer, to the multitude of my ancestors living their lives, migrating hither and yon for me to end up right there, in that very potato field, in that very moment in time. It was a very intense, almost spiritual experience, and it filled me with overwhelming joy. And no, I did not have any psychedelic mushrooms for breakfast (I know some of you are going to poke fun; this is not my first day on the internet, folks). I pity anyone who needs drugs to experience wonder and joy like this. It is so easy to get caught up in the banalities of life. My days are filled with mundane worries and troubles. Some times those can make me feel insignificant, as if nothing I do really matters to anyone or anything; I’m just a sack of seawater and stardust trying to make sure my offspring survive beyond me. But after digging potatoes today, I kind of feel like I’m part of something very large and vast, and even though my part is no bigger than the ancient tunicate, or the bee, or the potato, or the spider, all of it matters in a way. All of us had a microscopic part in one beautiful moment.
My children put in just shy of two hours at the farm before the younger two started becoming obnoxious. I decided to pack them out, lest they do more damage to the harvest than good. I don’t want to be “that neighbor whose kids squashed half the potato field” and not be invited back to help. As we left the farmer and his family, including two adorable dogs, were all digging up potatoes together, and that sight too filled me with joy.
The rest of the day was back to banal. It was back to worrying about schedules, bills, missing laptop chargers, and dishes (NOTHING can make washing dishes feel magical).
But if you’re ever feeling down and out of sorts, I highly recommend finding a potato field.
