Isodore's Plough
St Isodore (1070 – 1130) the Farmer was born into a very poor but devout family in Madrid. He lived his life as a farm labourer yet found the time for daily devotion to prayer and often attended daily Mass. He married and had a child. One day the child fell into a deep well. His distraught parent’s prayed as they tried to help. Miraculously they watched the water level rise to bring the child to the surface. St Isodore was well known for his many miracles but he also had critics. Fellow workers once complained that he often arrived late in the morning for work because he attended Mass. His master, while investigating their complaint found St Isodore in Church but an Angel ploughing the field. On another occasion he was seen ploughing a field with an angel on either side of him. St Isodore’s wife would often keep a large pot of stew on the boil for her husband when he returned from work, knowing he was likely to be accompanied by poor people he met on his way home. On occasions the pot seemed to miraculously feed many more people than physically possible. St Isodore is the Patron Saint of Farmers and bricklayers as well as his home city, Madrid.As I slowly pull around the curvy gravel road I see behind the cloud of dust two doberman pinschers, Merry and Pippin, racing in my rear view mirror towards the farm. I pull off into the grass to join the rest of the group. We are all greeted by two barefooted boys with wooden swords, Isaiah and Arbutus. Behind the two brothers is their father, Tom leading Violet the cow into the pasture and behind him is their mother, Karen. I stand back a bit as I watch this community reunite. I see decades of friendship in their smiles and embraces. This is so much bigger than me. Yet here I am invited to partake in this expression of love this expression of God.
We unpack our stuff in the yard pitching our tents in a row as if we were a tribe of nomads. I walk towards the barn stepping between two bails of straw I see a 1969 Volkswagen van. As we make our way to the back where the Christmas lights are strung about the dusty rafters I am hit with two distinct smells.
My grandparents barn in Lyons, Ohio. The barn my brother, our cousins, and I would climb and explore all over on the weekends we stayed with grandma and grandpa. Playing with old farm tools and running through the field behind it.
The other smell was a bit more recent and caught me by surprise. It smelled like N'Dola, Zambia. The simplicity and the beauty within it. These two memories triggered in an instant at a simple inhale of my tiny nose yet such vast places in my memory.
I'm reminded of my grandpa's death one year ago this past Monday. My grandma selling the farm house to move into a senior care center while I was home this past Labor day for the county fair. How much things have changed in her lifetime. How much things have changed.
We take a tour around the land. We see the brand new privy behind the barn, we see the newly planted vineyard, the chicken coop and the garden in front of it. My heart is nearly maxed and I haven't been here for an hour. Tom tells us the horn will blow three times when dinner is ready and he leaves us to our discussions.
After we settle in with our coffees and readers the environment is so completely different but the conversation and my friends are the same. We dig into discussions of Christ in the wilderness of the temptations of Christ, the temptations of all of us. How Jesus overcame them and how we pale in the shadow of His triumph yet hope in the mercy of His grace.
After the discussions our warrior friends put away their wooden swords and pick up their mallets inviting us to a game of croquet. The Lockridges share a mallet and ball as a team while Angela Mandy and I play individually, the rest of the group cheering as spectators. As the game goes on a frisbee is thrown over head. The dogs now joined by Kaiden add an element of surprise to the match as they trample through the field of play back and forth pulled by the desire to catch the disk. The air is completely silent with the exception of our laughter as Erin and Robert struggle to pass through the first wicket, Joshua runs with the dogs after the frisbee and jokes are made inbetween. The sun is setting and dusk is here. This moment is so peaceful.
After the game its nearly completely dark but the boys aren't finished yet. They have set up the capture the flag game and are ready to pick teams. We split and in almost complete darkness begin to strategize. After a bit of running, tripping, falling, and laughing a flag is captured and the game is over.
The horn blows and we make our way slowly up the hill exhausted and retelling our highlights of the game. We remove our shoes and enter into the single room home. Inside its a different feeling. The sun has fallen and the sky seems to remind us it is time to rest. The room is lit only by candles and very small lamps. We gather around the large table holding hands giving thanks to God for this meal and this day.
After the meal I find myself again lost in the midst of a beautiful community. I haven't met any of the people in the stories that are told. Some stories I've already heard before but I love hearing them all the same. The wine was flowing and the room ebb and flowed with sighs and laughter.
We existed our hosts' home thanking them over and over for the meal. We followed behind Joshua leading by the light of his headlamp to our campsite. There we built a fire and cracked open a few pumpkin beers. The conversation continued but this time of a different nature. Now outside we are reminded of our smallness. Under the stars in the cold dark of a late September night. This conversation was intimate. It was slow. It was precise. As the fire began to fade I wasn't ready for the day to end but I knew the only timepiece we had was the endurance of the logs. I asked if I should find more wood and my fears came true. The group politely refused as they stood one by one stretched and moved towards their dwellings for the night. Left alone I decided against a tent. I wanted the stars and the fire as my bedtime story.
I unrolled my sleeping bag and crawled inside looking up at the dark sky seeing all of God's stars crystal clear. My eye lids grew heavy and closed slowly like garage doors.
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