Parables II: Weeds Among the Wheat

Or, actually, weeds among the chickpeas.

I have written a bit about the agriturismo at which we stayed - and which I absolutely plan to return at some point - the Sillitti Farm, owned by Sylvia and Bruno (photos here).

Sylvia and Bruno moved here in the mid-90's when her father, who had owned the farm, passed away, and Sylvia made the decision to go organic. So she did, and, as far as I can tell, with great success.

(The agriturismo may seem in the middle of nowhere, but it is and it isn't. It is a farm, of course, but from there we were able to easily travel for day trips to Agrigento, Mt. Etna, Cefalu and other spots. And Carrefour was only 20 minutes away! Very important for the spoiled Americans.  Anyway..the place was wonderful, and they even took us to Mass at the Poor Clares monastery in Caltanissetta!)

It is a small agriturismo - 2 apartments and 2 rooms, I think, but pretty much perfect. The breakfasts were lovely - although my boys were certainly craving their pancakes by the time they returned - the southern European pastry/bread breakfast got a bit wearisome for them (although here they could have some ham and boiled eggs, aside from the lovely sweet breads, fruit, bread and cereal) - the one dinner we had was a feast, the conversation was interesting, as were the other guests - an American woman and her niece on a search for family roots (as were most Americans I encountered in Sicily) and a young British couple.

You would think that an introvert like me would find a B&B type situation intolerable, but as time goes on, I am starting to really enjoy it. I am an introvert, true, but I am also extremely interested in other people and their stories. I am the kind of person who stands in a grocery line and wonders who the other people in line are, why they are buying what they are buying, who they are buying for, what kind of day they had and what kind of day they hope to have.  Seriously, if I didn't think I would be taken for a lunatic, I would gladly and unashamedly go around the dining area at any of the B & B's we stayed at and ask each party there what their story was.

Did I mention that the most formative book of my childhood was Harriet the Spy? That I read it probably 15 times, no joke? Well, that explains it, doesn't it?

Oh, so the point of this post?

I had driven the road to the agriturismo countless times, vaguely noticing the contrast between the neat, pristine wheat fields on my left and the less-defined fields of..something...on my right.

And then a couple of days before we left, Sylvia and Bruno piled us all in their car and drove us around, showed us all of their crops and explained how things are grown and processed. The "less-defined fields" on my right turned out to be the wheat and chickpea fields which, because no pesticides are used, are a living embodiment of what Jesus talked about, and what I was never able to envision before: the wheat and chickpeas growing with the weeds alongside, to be separated only at the end, by the harvester.

It was a gift, to be able to see that so concretely, to walk amid the weeds and the wheat growing so closely together, brushing up against each other, roots intertwining, from a distance so difficult to separate, but not difficult for the One who harvests, who knows, who sees, who can discern.