At some point of yesterday I looked at my calendar and realized today's date. September 11, 2009. It was at that point that I remembered the events of eight years ago today. But mostly I thought about the fact that I had almost forgotten to look toward this date with any more attention than I would any other.

As I write this I am sitting in the same place I was at the same time of the morning watching Good Morning America just as I was on September 11, 2001. I remember that morning, drinking my coffee, one eye on the newspaperer,one eye on the television. And then everything changed. The coffee cup was abandoned, the newspaper fell to the floor, as my eyes watched what was unfolding, live, before my very eyes. This was not a movie. This was for real.

The days that followed were filled with people reaching out to one another. We held on more tightly to those we loved. We called family just to hear their voices. We searched for answers and felt a unity in this country that had not been felt for some time. We ate food that comforted. And we prayed. We prayed for those directly affected in New York, Washington and Pennsylvania. We prayed for those who had perpetrated such acts. We prayed for ourselves and the return of normalcy.

We are now eight years from this event that many say 'changed us forever'. Babies born that year are now in elementary school. Those in middle school and high school who sat at their desks watching as terrorism gripped their nation, unsure what this meant in their lives, are now in college or working in the world. Many are now parents. Those of us who were adults have gone on doing what has been required of us at work and at home. In eight years, nearly a decade, much changes. Our memories fade and we can almost forget even the worst of experiences.

On this September 11th, it is not so important to me to remember the devastating events of that morning and the mornings that followed. It is not so important to remember the horror, the fear, the confusion. What is important, I believe, is to try to conjure up the memory of how it felt to be so completely united in our humanity. It is important to remember how it felt to look into the eyes of another and know we were deeply connected. In those days that followed we learned what held us together, what simple things really brought pleasure to our lives. Things like eating with friends, the beauty of a clear, blue autumn sky, the sound of geese flying overhead, the gentle touch of another human hand.

Then there is that praying thing. It seems to me it is still important to remember how our prayers held us together across faith traditions and no traditions. In those days we all held out the hope that something larger than ourselves walked with us, grieved with us, cradled us in a hope for what seemed an uncertain future.

And yet here we are, eight years later. And I almost forgot to remember.

"At night I wait for a sign in the wind, a stillness in the cold, black water before jumping from the rocky ledge, knowing my body must find its way through darkness. I begin each dive like the first time-a whispered invocation." Amy Uyematsu

"Seek the beginnings;learn from whence you came,and know the various earth of which you were made." Edwin Muir, The Journey Back

I subscribe to a podcast created by a young man who travels and tells fascinating information about Ireland. Once a week an hour show of interesting people, music and tales of the Emerald Isle shows up on my ipod. This past week's broadcast was of particular interest.The show was called the Auld Sod. It was an interview with an Irishman who has found a great way to make a living: selling Irish dirt to Americans.

At first the idea made me laugh. But when I listened further to the stories of people who had left the land they loved to come to this country, those who had not returned, or if they had for only a short visit, who were able to touch and smell the dirt they held dear, my laughter turned to something else. There was a poignancy in these stories of people longing to once again touch the soil they had known made my heart swell.

The entrepreneur who had was marketing this soil told of the many people who wanted the soil to scatter at the graveside of their mother, father or grandparent. Others purchased the soil to plant a shamrock plant or add to the ground where a baptismal tree was planted. Still others kept the dirt in a prominent place where they could see it, touch it and smell it, anytime they wanted to remember.

We all have earth….soil…from which we came. I remember the first time I went to Wales, the land of my ancestors. There was some odd and yet wonderful feeling of having been there before, a sort of 'coming home' remembrance. Have you had this experience?

Even if it is not the faraway land of our ancestors, we each have those places on the planet that we recognize as the soil from which we have sprung. It could be the family farm or the lake cabin. It could be the pavement of the inner city or the silence of a grove of trees. We know this 'soil' because it has made its way into our worldview, shaped it, shaped us, and provides the lens through which we see everything. We know it because when we are not in touch with this earthiness that is in our DNA, we feel off, not quite ourselves.

What earth shaped you? From what soil did you spring? Today might be as good a day as any to take stock, to remember, to seek the beginnings that shaped our life's path. And once we've named the various earth form which we've sprung, it is probably the right and fitting thing to do to offer our gratitude.

It is good to thank God for dirt!

As I was riding along today on the light rail today, I saw a young man on a bicycle waiting for the train to cross the intersection. On his head he was wearing something that was a cross between the gas masks of World War II and a space helmet. It was a curious thing to see. It also sent shivers down my spine. What was he protecting himself from? There may have been a totally legitimate purpose for this head gear but it, frankly, gave me the creeps. My heart went out to this young man.

I have been thinking about all the young children headed to their first few days of school. I watched on Tuesday morning as the bus stop near our house filled up with the wiggling bodies of those who make up the tribe of children in our neighborhood. Backpacked and sporting new shoes, they stood in line. The older siblings watched over those who were headed off for their first school experience as the parents snapped pictures, filmed video. At one point they all posed on the step, sealed for posterity as forever-neighbor friends. I know this is true because I have nearly identical pictures of our now young adult sons standing beside their childhood friends on the first day of school.

As those children boarded the bus they were taking one step further away from their parents and one step closer to becoming grown up. It is an ancient cycle that goes on and on and we would really have it no other way. Yet there are fears that can grip parents as they send their precious ones into the world. Fears of the friends they might make, the behavior they might exhibit, the act that might get out of hand, the choices gone terribly wrong. Smaller, yet just as real, are fears of hurt feelings, tests failed,missed opportunities, toes stubbed.

Very few parents fear words that would encourage their child to be the best they can be. Not many parents I know would deny their child the opportunity to be told how great they are, how the future is open to them if they work hard, to take advantage of the education available to them, to fulfill the dreams they hold for their future. Isn't this what most parents do from the time their children are born?

The fact is these are the messages I would expect from the teachers that also started school these past weeks. These are the messages I would hope all children hear from neighbors, from family members, from friends.These are the messages I would hope all children would hear even, or perhaps especially, from their president.  Encouraging words, helpful words, words that allow children to know they are a part of something much bigger than themselves, that who they are and what they do makes a difference in the very fabric of the world.

Fear can be a very dangerous thing. It can cause us to ride around with all manner of protective gear. But words of encouragement, words of inspiration,words that instill confidence, should never be something we shield ourselves, or our children from. In the grand scheme of things, these are the words that will plant the seeds of promise and hope in the world.

And isn't that something we all need a little more of?

"It is simple, I tell my gathering of friends. We understand the power of accident and magic in human affairs. We know better than anyone the immense unanswerable powers of fate, and how one day can shift the course of ten thousand lives. Fate can catapult them into lives they were never meant to lead until they stumbled into one immortal day." ~Pat Conroy,South of Broad

Yesterday I finished reading Pat Conroy's newest novel set in his beloved South Carolina. Having visited this beautiful part of our country a couple of times, I can see his passion for, not only the landscape of the Low Country, but also his dedication to portraying the interesting, often quirky, people whose use of American English can sound like butter spreading on warm bread. Like so many of his other intricate and rich stories, this book is full of uniquely Southern characters, people you would not meet in any other part of the world.

But what captured my attention most was stated in these last few lines of the book. The characters, thrown together through a series of odd circumstances, come to be life-long, soul-bound friends. Fate? I'm not sure what to make of it but I think we can all probably think of one or two people in our lives that we would not have chosen, that came to us in an out of the ordinary way, that now make up the circle of care in which we travel. I know I certainly have a few friends, close friends, that I would describe in this way.

Throughout the book Conroy weaves a story that brings these people in and out of one another's lives in ways that sometimes seem impossible, sometimes healthy and helpful, other times downright hurtful and crazy. Such is life, I suppose, and the result of what it means to give yourself to the intricacies of relationship. Again, I am sure we can all name one or two people who require more energy, more care, more compassion, than we can sometimes muster.

Yet, if we are open to the fullness of the gifts of living, we can find ourselves in the stew pot with a wide array of other people who can bring a richness to our lives we never imagined. If we are not interested in controlling too carefully the trajectory we travel on life's path, we may find adventure and novelty shows up at our door. And isn't that what makes life interesting?

Today may find us eating, playing, working with those we've been with for some time. We will know what to expect and that is not a bad thing. But what if, what if, we turned our head just so and smiled at the person sitting at the coffee shop table nearby and started up a conversation? What if we took a different route to our office or the grocery store and encountered something that would change our course forever? What if, unbeknownst to us, there is an adventure waiting just around a corner we've taken over and over, an adventure waiting for the right moment to open its door?

These could only be Labor Day musings. But then again, they could be the start of something big.

"Should one faint by the way who gains the blessing of one mountain day? Whatever his fate, long life, short life, stormy or calm, he is rich forever." ~John Muir

Welcome to the days of richness! As I gaze out my office window right now, the sun is playing in the enormous oak tree I am privileged to see put on its seasonal show. I watch the buds form in the spring and the leaves make their summer appearance. Last week I observed the many children who play on the playground under its shady branches as they reaped the rewards of its year round work. Right now the mighty oak seems to be steeling itself for what is to come. Yet in the meantime its rich green leaves are waving gently in the breeze, while the squirrels who make their home in precarious places within its foliage, skitter back and forth collecting acorns.In several weeks, its branches will once again be bare and exposed to the cold, winter elements.

But in these days, these early September days, the colors all around seem brighter, fuller, richer, don't they? Is it the light? In part perhaps it is, but I think it is also the knowledge we have of the change that is in the air. And so, it seems to me, our work is to pay attention, to savor the beauty of each day, to store up our richness for the winter.

My goal is to not miss the leaves transformation from green to red, orange and gold. In fact, I noticed last night that a few leaves have moved to a deep,blackish red on a lovely large maple in our front yard. Before I know it that tree will be brilliant red, casting a scarlet shadow over the carved pumpkins we will place around its trunk.

It is very easy with all that must be done in autumn to miss the magnificent show of which we are merely players. There are school supplies to be purchased, forms to be signed, children to be readied. There are windows to be washed, summer furniture to be stored, lawn mowers prepared for their winter rest. For those blessed to have summer cabins there are pipes to be drained and windows to be sealed. The lists could keep us all distracted beyond measure.

But if we allow those  lists to drive our days, we may find ourselves so focused that we don't allow our gaze to move outward, upward. Looking down as we cross off the items that 'must be done' we might miss the sumac along the freeways turning their autumn scarlet. We might miss the morning mist that hovers over any body of water nearby signaling the change in temperature of the fall air. We might miss the azure blue at twilight and the sheer immensity of the moon as it hangs in that sea of sky. We might miss those geese practicing their formations, readying themselves for their big exit.

And if we missed all this, wouldn't  that be a shame? Wouldn't it be a terrible mistake to miss the opportunity to be rich forever?

"The world is alive with your goodness, O God, it grows green from the ground and ripens into the roundness of fruit. Its taste and its touch enliven my body and stir my soul. Generously given, profusely displayed, your graces of goodness pour forth from the earth. As I have received so free me to give. As I have been granted so may I give." ~J. Philip Newell

Entering the Agriculture and Horticulture building at the State Fair the other day, I overheard a woman who was a bit impatient about standing in line to see the prize winning vegetables. "I have seen vegetables before." she spoke with some derision to her Fair companion. She made this statement very near my head but I resisted the impulse to turn and glare at her. My eyes were instead fixed ahead as we approached the enormous pumpkins. I hardly knew which way to look….huge orange pumpkins, brilliant red tomatoes, lime green peppers, rich purple eggplants, perfectly dainty patapans. My head was spinning with the beauty of it all.

As we slowly made our way in procession past the ribbon winners, I thought of the woman's statement. How often we take for granted the every day gifts around us! Vegetables can be seen as simply food….but who can truly say 'simply' about food, this fuel that literally keeps us alive? And these particular vegetables were grown with such love and care, as most good plants are, that they deserve a sort of reverence, I think.

Walking past each offering, for that is what they are, I could imagine the growers watching over their garden plants, hoping that each vegetable would be 'just right' by the opening day of the Fair. Ripe enough to be completely beautiful, not too ripe so as to go bad during the twelve days they need to hold their audience. That takes some careful watching, not to be taken lightly.

Playing the scene backwards from picking to nurturing, from the perfect amount of water and sunlight, back to tilling the soil and making sure it was rich with nutrients, to planting the seeds and splitting the plants. So many steps to get to this 'simple' vegetable. Not to mention the hard work of the hands who planted and watched over them. And then there is the whole matter of the faith it takes to even do any of this at all.

Those who plant gardens, whether large or small, are people who deserve not only our thanks but our admiration. Whether their produce is grown to be prize winners or not is irrelevant. Each tomato, each pepper, each eggplant, offers itself to be food for someone. In some circles this is known as a sacrament.

If only the woman had known, we might have heard her running down Dan Patch Avenue screaming at the top of her lungs: "I've seen vegetables! I've seen vegetables!"