The Good Earth

After school got out, I had some vacation time so another volunteer and I decided to spend our vacation helping out at an organic farm in the West Bank called Tent of Nations. To my delight, we arrived just in time for the last four days of apricot season on the farm. 

Apricot season is quite short in Palestine: one or two weeks at most. It is therefore something to be savored while it lasts. At the beginning of the year, one of the first Arabic phases we learned was “bukra fil mishmish” which translates to "tomorrow in the apricot". The phrase has the sense of “when pigs fly”. The apricot season is so short that to say, “it will happen in apricot season” is a akin to "it will happen when pigs fly".

In a later Arabic lesson, the first Arabic tongue twister I ever learned was, “hada mishmish mish min mishmishna”. It means, “this apricot is not from our apricot tree” and the phrase is really fun to say fast! Between these two phrases, I was already feeling an affinity for Palestinian mishmish by the time that mishmish season rolled around this year. I had my first taste of real Palestinian apricots and khelas (that's it), I am in love. The apricots here are so sweet and full of flavor. I do not know what I have been eating in the United States that has paraded itself as an apricot, but it is nothing compared to these delightful little fruity morsels.

Picking a golden, Palestinian apricot

The edge of the Apricot grove

At Tent of Nations, I got to spend some time in the organic apricot grove. The grove is deep in a rocky valley and has approximately forty apricot trees. We rode down from the hilltop farm early in the morning to do our picking while the air was still cool. We were blessed with the absolute most beautiful, blue sky sunshine days. I will never forget the sun shining through the green leaves of the trees as we searched for the elusive last fruits of the apricot season. 

Working close to the sun-warmed earth, the only sounds I heard were the lazy buzz of insects who were equally interested in the mishmish, the noises of herds of goats in the surrounding hills and the satisfying thump of apricots filling buckets. I quite enjoyed the warmth of the sun on my skin, the coolness of the shade under the trees, the rocky ground beneath my feet  and the gentle breeze. I was surrounded by the sweet perfume of ripe apricots. Best of all was the occasional taste of these perfect fruits. I can say with certainty that the best food I have ever eaten is a fresh-off-the-tree, still-warm-from-the-sun, organic Palestinian apricot. 

I have spent the past ten months living in the "Holy Land" but the closest I have come to a mystical experience here was in that sun-filled apricot grove, admiring the miracle of fruit. Fruit trees turn pure sunshine, gentle rain, and nutrients from the soil into delicious, golden food. Amazing. I was filled with such unbelievable gratitude. I found myself thankful for the sunshine, the breeze and the earth. Thankful for the plentiful rain this year that made the apricot harvest so bountiful. Thankful for the combined effect of the quiet solitude of harvesting fruit and the company of my fellow pickers. Thankful for the health of my body to be able to pick and the renewing health of my soul in the sunshine, the warmth and the earthy sweetness. After ten months of city life, filled with honking horns and crowds, I felt utterly renewed in communing with the good earth. 

Miraculous abundance

Daher, the farmer who owns the land, took great joy in harvesting. He pointed out the cave where his Grandfather used to sleep during harvesting season in order to be able to work earlier in the morning and longer into the evening. He checked up on the progress of  his nearby apple orchard and grape vineyard. He had such admiration for his apricot trees. He pulled out a branch with six apricots all in a row next to each other and said, “Look at that! Where’s your camera? We must take a picture!".

I recently finished reading the novel, The Good Earth, by Pearl S. Buck. It is a stunning chronicle of  the life of a farmer in pre-communist China. The farmer delights in his land. He puts the sweat of his brow and all of his trust, through good times and bad, into the earth. He pulls a life and a living from the soil. He admires the miracle of hard work and good land.

One of the buckets I filled on the second day

Between reading Buck’s book and working on the Tent of Nations farm, I now have a better understanding of the joy of working one's land. The wonder of coaxing a livelihood out of the earth. The connection one might feel to a particular plot of soil. I spent only a tiny amount of time in that apricot orchard, but I already feel deeply connected to it. Some part of my soul will ever be rooted in its warmth, light and miraculous plenty. I can only imagine what it must be like to work this land every year and to know that one’s family has trod this same soil and harvested these same trees for generations upon generations.

My fellow harvesters: Daher, Tina, Michelle and Anka

Unfortunately, like all of Palestine today, this farm has suffered. Since 1991, the family that owns the land has been in a legal battle with the Israeli government to keep their family land. The Israeli government has said that if the land is not properly maintained and cultivated it will be confiscated from the family. The government has also claimed that parts of the farm are on Israeli state land. The farm is surrounded by Israeli settlements in the West Bank (which are illegal under international law) and it is easy to guess that these settlements would like to use the farm for their own agriculture. This situation makes the miracle and beauty of the apricot harvest all the more precarious.

I hope and long for a just and peaceful solution to this conflict. This land is so unbelievably beautiful, that it is truly heartbreaking to see it filled with conflict and hate. May we all pray and work for justice and peace in the Holy Land.

 

Sunset over the Tent of Nations