I had a Shabbat filled with shehecheyanus.
My nephew is visiting from afar, and I got to bring him to Caretaker
Farm for the first week of CSA distribution. We were still getting snow this April, which meant distribution started later than usual this year, so I
was expecting a very small first haul -- but I couldn't have been
more wrong. I came home with two beautiful heads of lettuce, arugula and mibuna and mustard greens and baby spinach, bunches of radishes
and baby turnips, a wee bok choi: a glory of greens. It felt really good to be back, to look out over the fields, to pick herbs in the herb garden and wave to people I knew.
Then we want to Wahconah Park to see a Pittsfield Dukes game. It was a beautiful evening for my first ballgame of the summer season. Everything about it was pleasing: the smell of the grass, the sounds (crack of bat and thunk of ball into glove), the feel and taste of peanuts freshly-shelled. We had to squint through the first couple of innings, of course -- the park was built in its current form in 1919, well before the advent of night ball, so the batter (and catcher, and those in the stands) face into the setting sun -- but we didn't mind. We didn't even mind that the Dukes didn't exactly win.
And then there were fireflies, and the tiniest fringe of new moon in the sky. And, in time, Shabbat morning services at my shul; the adults numbered nine, not quite a minyan, but even without taking the scroll from the ark we had a terrific Torah discussion. We talked about various priestly roles and modes of sacrifice, and then we studied the haftarah portion read when Shabbat coincides with Rosh Hodesh. (It offers a fascinating perspective on the rebuilding of the Temple, and a messianic vision of God choosing priests from among all peoples when all races and all tongues join in praise together. Plenty of fodder for conversation, in other words.)
And there was a sweet afternoon of cloud and sun and rest. And as the day waned, Ethan came home from long travels! So many things to be grateful for.