As September deepens, the earth tilts farther away from the sun and the harsh cold of winter will soon descend upon the fields. Abundance has filled and overflowed from the garden and into my kitchen. I carefully set aside some of the summer’s bounty for those February days, giving thanks that this abundance even exists, pledging to save every possible bite, sharing with all those that come to my table. Always, some of the fruits and vegetables are left on the vines for the birds and bugs that co-habitat with me and my family. Each act; the cleaning, the cutting, the placing of herbs in the dehydrator, the boiling of jars in the canner, all are part of a sacred ritual handed down to me through the generations. I smile when I think that my grandmother may be watching me, whispering in my mind a trick she may have discovered. I sense all of them – my mother and grandmothers, standing beside me in one great circle through time. I have been given the task of teaching my daughter and granddaughters, and to all who care to learn, for this is not my knowledge but the wisdom of all the ages. I am simply a ministrant in this, a Divine liturgy.