Moments of unscrupulousness sometimes have the redeeming quality of offering insight into one’s behavior. I seem to find or create many such moments in the normal course of my day. Suzanne and I share the meal preparations so I decided to marinate some moose steaks a couple of nights ago.
First, I grab the rhubarb “vinegar” from the fridge, only to be redirected to the rhubarb juice department. The vinegar, I was instructed, had a separate specific purpose.
Then I grab the container of juniper berries, take a liberal portion, and proceed to crush them, adding them to the lovely evolving marinade.
This was duly noted.
Suzanne suggested that the flavor could be enhanced if they were ground in the now repurposed coffee grinder. When I did not respond to this suggestion enthusiastically, she tried once again, stating that the supply of juniper berries was perilously scant, and that grinding them would make them last longer. But by this time, the deed was done, berries stubbornly crushed and added.
In the time it took for the unmoved grinder to gather an infinitesimal modicum of dust, I was offered a generous portion of humility. The visibly upset Suzanne delivered a composed and articulate commentary on the scarceness of juniper berries this year, which I had clearly not appreciated.
She outlined the cold and prickles she endured, and reminded me that she bore the lone responsibility for gathering those berries. As I said earlier, the only redeeming aspect of the moment was the personal insight I acquired.
Clearly, this was about more than juniper berries. This was about respect and appreciated effort and shared commitment to a course. It was about meaningful communication and the need to understand potential ramifications before acting. It was about the value we place on personal involvement in the acquisition of security, and how even the simplest of tactile tasks can foster feelings of tremendous individual engagement and ownership.
So, the things we grow, gather or build have more personal value than their monetary value would suggest. Might this explain the disproportionate satisfaction we enjoy with a shed full of firewood? Or a freezer full of moose, or berries, or blanched broccoli? Might it explain why we build our own boats, or shelves or sheds? Why we crochet, knit or needlepoint?
Given that, then why has our society increasingly moved away from the joy we could acquire through manual tasks? What will be the price for this evolution? And what would it say, if the juniper berry could speak?