I was hungry. Out of crackers, cheese, jam, apples. Eating weeds (albeit the stunningly-nutritious lamb’s quarters, about which I wrote in my book, Food for My Daughters). Uncomfortable asking if someone would drive me to Great Bend to go to the grocery store. Trying to stretch my $40 weekly stipend as far as possible — fresh-picked crudités and the scraped bottom of the hummus tub for lunch! — and sort of loving the challenge of that, but feeling a nagging scarcity.
I asked. We went. I’m stocked up again. Beans. Rice. Bananas. Oranges. My beloved chocolate chips, which I put in the freezer to try to eat more slowly. A bag of frozen broccoli because my daily greens requirement exceeds what’s currently available here.
I’ve been hungry on this trip these past two months since I’ve left my abundant cupboard and garden at home. Almost insatiably at times.
Yet there are days when I am full. Physically. Emotionally. Spiritually. When I am gifted with jars of preserved goodness and fresh baked bread. When I am invited to share a table. When crops still warm from the sun are ready for harvest. When I am rushing with endorphins — after riding my bike, dancing in the golden grasses or creating art — and food is far from my mind.
And in those moments I know, once again, that the world is a place of bounty. And I have enough.