On this Autumn Equinox afternoon, my spouse walked in from our wildly overgrown backyard garden with a stalk of Chinese lanterns and a surprising added bonus invitation, “come look, you’ve got tomatoes!”

Now, it’s important to note that I didn’t plant tomatoes.  I haven’t planted tomatoes in well over 15 years, having given up that pursuit which only led to my anger at the backyard squirrels who otherwise bring me great joy.  This year, the squirrels have been particularly busy in their pursuits and had already managed to propagate several stalks of corn, which have sporadically popping up in the midst of my coneflowers.  I enjoyed watching them grow talk with the summer sun, the unintended crop of the spoils from raiding the neighbor’s bird feeder.  But as many times as I had been out there, I had never seen a tomato.

But today, it was unmistakable…a vine that had traveled far from wherever its original roots were planted and now bearing clusters of fruit, some bright red, some ripening, still others green bunches awaiting a bit longer to ripen in the last of the summer sun.  I dug into the bushes and picked a small dish of deliciousness, enjoying the smell of tomato vine that took me back to the gardens behind the house where I grew up, popping sun ripe spheres into my mouth while I was meant to be weeding.

I seem to have more tolerance for weeds now than I have in years past.  Some weeks I leave because they are native plants that attract pollinators, and some are present only because the pace of my life means that removing them hasn’t been a priority.  But today, on this Equinox, I was struck by how it was all in balance: the squirrels, the weeds, the tomatoes and me.  We are a tiny ecosystem, working perhaps oblivious to one another until an afternoon like this comes along and we notice, with gratitude, what has been growing and forming all along. 

On this Autumn Equinox, I am grateful for the gifts of nature, for surprises, for noticing the fruit and flora that have been growing together along with the tall weeds, unnoticed until the time was perfectly ripe for harvest.  I savored them with delight, like a sacramental gift of God’s providence even when it seems like the weeds had won.  More is always taking form, with God’s help.

Gracious God, open my eyes and help me continually see the gifts that your creation has provided for this journey.