So far removed from sowing and watering, from walking the rows holding hope loosely, feeling the dirt soft underfoot, from watching the sky, understanding seasonal gifts of light and shade, cool mornings and afternoon rain, we have forgotten the delight of the supple bend of stem, scent of leaves, the joy of reaping, the ping of peas in a bowl, snap of beans, juice of tomatoes still warm from the vine. We have lost the knowledge of real nourishment. We need to hold wooden handles, develop calluses, wash blisters tenderly, with gratitude, feed the thresher from our own hands, hear the whoosh of separation--wheat from chaff--feel the vibration come up from the ground. We need to take up a hoe, pocket a few seeds, and dig holes in the backyard.