I love the farmer’s markets. The slow stroll of the people carrying their fruit and veggies and lavender and jam. Holding the hands of their children and their old folks, sipping sunshine and social graces, and the sweetness of a long, summer day. There’s no computers, no video games, and I rarely see a customer on a cell phone at the markets.

People are walking together. Talking together. Doing what people do together at these slow-moving markets. Gathering food and friends the old-fashioned way.

The old-fashioned way.

Like that sweet, little town on the Andy Griffith Show.

Because this world needs more Mayberry, I saw on facebook awhile back. So I talked to our boys about good, old-fashioned manners. About how to address adults by their last name with a Mr. or Mrs. on the front, unless the person says, “Please use my first name.” And to look into people’s eyes when they ask you a question. And to give them a smile because the Good Lord knows we need more smiles in this world.

To say please and thank you, and really mean your thank yous.

To be grateful for each day because many people are praying for one more day. Praying to just live long enough to see their child graduate high school, or get married, or have that first grandbaby. I know this because we just lost a dear friend to cancer, the daddy of a 12 year old son, and he really wanted one more day to be a dad to his son.

I see people fighting cancer and other diseases at the markets, walking on their canes, and hanging onto the arms of their loved ones. “I need good fresh fruit because I’m sick,” they tell me. When I hand them their bag of peaches, or plums, or apricots, or nectarines, I also send a silent prayer, Lord, please help this person. They need your healing touch. Sometimes, I’ll even tell the person I’m praying for them because the Good Lord knows we need more unashamed prayers in this world.

Because life is a gift, not something owed to us.

And we need to acknowledge not just the gift, but the Giver of the gift.

We need to slow down and watch for God each day.

It takes time to watch for God. Just like it takes time to grow our fruit for the farmers’ markets. Time to prepare food from the farmer’s market.

Precious time.

A time to cook.

A time to pray.

A time to watch for God.

Because the Good Lord knows we need more watching in this world…

Not the watching of TVs and computers and iPhones that stress us out and wear us out and wipe our souls out. But the watching of life. And watching for the Giver of Life. Often we’re living so fast in this modern world of high-speed internet and high-speed friendships, we miss home-cooked the meals with our friends and families. The kind of meals Grandma used to make.

I remember my grandma’s hands doing this…

I spent an hour in the kitchen pitting cherries like Grandma used to do after working the farmer’s market. My hands turned purple as I said my prayers. So many prayers needing to be said. People are hurting in this world. I don’t know how to fix all the hurts, but I know how to pray.

And I know how to use my grandma’s cherry pitter. It’s old-fashioned but it works. Grandma’s cherry pitter isn’t entertaining. It isn’t shiny and fast and modern, but it gives me time to pray. And my family will enjoy a homemade cherry pie soon made by hands that look like grandma’s hands.

Thank goodness our life of farming in a way– in its own special way, because it’s really hard work– has slowed our family down. Has brought us back to life in Mayberry. Because it takes time to grow and pick fruit and turn it into pies.

How I love sweet cherry pie…

Out in the orchard, in the cool of the shade, our boys talk to their grandma “Oma” the head fruit picker. The daughter of my grandma who owned that cherry pitter before me. Oma teaches the boys how to tell a ripe peach from a green one. Just like her mother taught me when I was a kid in the orchard. How to test the fruit in your hand, gently pulling to see if it releases from the tree. If it doesn’t release, if you have to pull too hard, the fruit’s not ripe.

I’ve spent a lot of years picking green. Jerking at life, wanting things too soon. This generation wants it all too soon, and in the wanting, we miss the growing. Instead of watching for God, we watch everything else. And in everything else, we never find enough. The God of enough.

I want to teach our children it takes time to grow good things. Time to fix good food from the farm. And the seeds you stick in the ground become what they’re meant to be. A peach pit grows a peach. A kernel of corn grows corn. Love grows love. Even a kernel of love grows more love. I know it’s old-fashioned, but it works.

Love my husband who picks our peaches every morning.